


Even Dogs Deserve a Second Chance

by Blue_Finch



Series: John Reese*Harold Finch Destined to be Together [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 79,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Finch/pseuds/Blue_Finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting and caring for an injured dog bring two men together.<br/>Both men are still reeling from the loss of a loved one, helping in the healing of this lost and mis-treated creature<br/>brings healing to their own hearts as well as finding new love in each other.</p><p>The names are the same, but the characters are not.<br/>I only borrowed the names from POI, nothing else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harold Finch of IFP

**Author's Note:**

> Beta Read by Managerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold Finch is driving home from the offices of IFP one night  
> Angry someone allow their pet to roam free, he attempts to alert its owner their animal is hurt.  
> The homes owner answers the door but tells Harold he doesn't own a dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Harold Finch first meets my John Reese.  
> 

 

Harold Finch, sole owner of Ingram-Finch Publishing―IFP as it was known in the world of publication―had distanced himself from the day to day operation of the company after the tragic death of his business partner and husband, Nathan Ingram. From his hospital bed after the accident that took Nathan’s life and crippled Harold, with months of physical rehabilitation left to endure, Finch had made their best friend and the company’s Chief Financial Officer, Leon Tao, the new CEO.

Leon Tao had excelled in his new position, especially at filling in for Nathan as IFP’s chief publishing agent. Books written by some authors on the current best selling list had started as manuscripts submitted to Ingram-Finch and accepted by Mr. Tao for publication. Leon, with the help of some carefully chosen associates, had also replaced Harold.

When Nathan and Harold had first started IFP, Finch had felicitously kept in the background, reading manuscripts while Nathan was the publishing company’s public face and agent extraordinaire. IFP may not be as renown as some of the big boys in the publishing industry today, but in the twenty some years since the two had founded the company―be it hardcover, paperback, or downloadable to electronic devices―not a week went by that an Ingram-Finch publication was not on the best seller’s list.

After the shake-up caused by Ingram’s death, things had returned to normal and operations ran like a well-oiled machine―until today. One of its most popular authors, one whose books had consistently reached #1, was quite adamant about not allowing Leon to remove a quite graphic chapter from his latest manuscript. Negotiations had come to loggerheads and no one was giving an inch.

Leon had pleaded with Harold to come to the city, to talk with Dorian Cooper, calm troubled waters, and possibly make Dorian understand why the manuscript needed that revision. Cooper was the author of the Detective Carter series, one that was quite lucrative to both publisher and author. Also IFP had a long-standing tradition that even the most lurid content in any of their publications would never be overly descriptive. Letting the author walk was definitely not the outcome anyone wanted, but making an exception to the standards the company held firm to was not an option either.

So Finch, for the first time in the eighteen months since he had turned over the reins to Leon Tao and left the city to rest and recuperate, returned to the IFP offices to meet with Dorian Cooper. After hours of deliberation, with Harold and Dorian bantering back and forth, Cooper agreed to amend wording of the chapter to less graphic details. Only Dorian held firm he would not remove it even though Harold tried to make the obstinate author realize the brutal murder of a victim not even related to the case the fictional detective was trying to solve was completely unnecessary to the crux of the story-line. At the end of the meeting, all parties shook hands on the adaptations to the manuscript, now scheduled to be published.  

Finch began the hour long drive out of the city going over and over in his head what he could have done to convince Dorian that the chapter was completely unnecessary. Harold had no doubt the latest crime novel would be another favorite in the line of the Detective Carter murder-mystery thrillers, nevertheless, he still thought because of that chapter, one chapter, the work was substandard fare in the series.

Finch was exiting onto the highway that took him to his house in Dyker Heights when his thoughts turned to the outcome of that meeting if Nathan had handled it. Harold smiled fondly while he harrumphed to himself. Nathan would have had Dorian tearing up the offending chapter into confetti with a promise to write three more installments to the series for the payment of one.

Harold's heart ached deep in his chest at the thought of Nathan. Nathan with his tall athletic frame―even at age 50, blonde hair, hazel eyes, and soft southern drawl unchanged by years of living in NYC. Not a day went by that Harold didn't miss his best friend, lover, and partner.

Now driving home from IFP, along the route of their last car ride together, Harold could hear Nathan’s voice animated and celebratory as he congratulated them on signing a noted author right out from under the noses of their bitter rival. Tears filled Harold’s eyes as the memories assaulted him, memories of smiling back, his heart full of love for his husband, and then the brightness of the headlights directly in front of them blinding them, too late to avoid the coming collision.

Harold blinked back the tears and shook his head slightly to clear his vision just in time to see something large and brown struggling to cross the road. Finch slammed on the brakes steering the vehicle to the right, stopping it as the vehicle barely avoiding sliding into the ditch. Finch looked to the left; from the faint light of the moon and the yard light of a house 200 yards off the road he saw the shape fall down in the driveway leading to said house.

Harold grabbed the flashlight out of the glove box and opened the door. He struggled as always to get out of a vehicle and limped across the highway to shine the light on the fallen shape. It was a large dog, shepherd by the looks of him/her. Dirt and leaves covered most of the fur obscuring its coloring. One of the dog’s legs was covered in blood and a bone protruded from broken skin. The dog was still alive, breathing heavily and whining pathetically. It raised its head to look at Harold, its eyes seemed to be pleading for his help, before they closed as the canine’s head lowered to the ground once more.

Finch knew he shouldn’t try to move an injured animal even if he had the ability to do so. He limped back towards his Escalade to get in. Harold started up the engine and backed the SUV up to turn into the driveway. The dog’s owner should be notified and take action to care for their injured pet. Finch stopped the SUV in front of the walk that led up to the doorway. _Good_ , Harold thought, _There is someone home_ , when he saw the silhouette of a man through the living room curtains. Harold struggled out of his vehicle once more, limped quickly up the walk, and angrily rang the doorbell; then knocked loudly on the door when within a few seconds no one answered.

After the third round of banging on the door its owner opened it up and scowled at the unwanted visitor. The man was tall with dark hair flecked with silver gray, grizzled, and handsome―even if those looks were marred from the effects of heavy drinking. Apparently the man had been imbibing when Finch pounded on his door, as he slurred angrily, “What do you fucking want?”

Undeterred by the man’s hostile greeting, his own anger at the man’s treatment of his animal spurring him on, Harold grit out a barely controlled, “I am terribly sorry for disturbing you at this hour of the night, but I barely avoided running over your dog. Although I am not responsible for the animal's current condition I still felt it was my duty to inform you that your animal is lying injured at the end of your drive!”

The taller man shook his head gingerly as if trying to clear his alcohol induced fog. He looked down again at Harold, less angry yet seemingly confused. “I am sorry for my less than welcome greeting...you caught me at a bad time.” The house's dark haired owner stood a little taller and sounded less intoxicated as he apologized. The man in the doorway then looked past Harold towards the end of his drive, “I don’t have a dog.”

 ~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: A brief biography of John Reese's life up to the night Harold Finch pounds on his door


	2. John Reese's Life Before Meeting Harold Finch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angst filled chapter of John Reese's life after leaving the Army Rangers.  
> before meeting one Harold Finch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is at times very very sad.  
> Be forewarned.

 

_Two days previous_

John Reese walked through the reflective glass and shining silver front doors of the main office of the security firm he owned. It was a bright and sunny Monday morning almost nine months to the day he had rushed out those very same doors after Dr. Madani's nurse had called to tell him to get to New York-Presbyterian immediately.

Reese took a deep breath. John entered the lobby to head to his left. He passed a secretary who blinked hard and smiled hesitantly before she waved him on to walk down a short hallway with two offices. The door on his left had John Reese, CEO in large gold letters affixed to its front. Only John entered the opposite office door; Lionel Fusco, Chief Security Officer was similarly lettered on its front. Reese’s first stop today was to meet with the man who had kept the company running after...

Lionel Fusco had been a fifteen year New York City police officer who had been shot in the line of duty and forced into early retirement because of the severity of his injuries. John had hired him that first day with a promise of a share of the profits and a ridiculously low salary. Surprisingly, the burly, curly haired bulldog of a man had taken the job over a decade ago. Maybe he saw something in the ex- Ranger. John had just retired from the service and used his meager discharge pay from the Army to start up the fledgling security firm.

In the beginning there had only been Lionel and another retired cop buddy of his, Bill Schymanski, manning the sparsely equipped control room; John and two other moonlighting police officers worked patrol in shifts, driving around in battered old police cruisers he had purchased for a song from a city property auction. Now _J &J Security _employed 300 people working in and out of 10 offices in New York City and the five boroughs. Their surveillance systems were state of the art, their patrol cars well equipped and patrol people as equally trained as any NYPD police officer.

Reese waited in Fusco’s office and within a few minutes Lionel entered carrying an armload of spiral bound reports. For the next hour they went over the books; John was impressed with the list of clientele that had secured the company’s service in Reese’s absence. John rose from his chair, shook his good friend’s hand and thanked him for running the firm so successfully in his absence. Lionel escorted him out of the office, Fusco heading out on his way to meet with a potential big money client and Reese to spend a few hours in his own to further catch up on company business.

John opened the door to a dark office and flipped on the overhead lights. The sight of a desk still covered with unwrapped baby gifts couldn’t have hit him any harder than a mule-kick to his chest. Reese couldn’t breath. He took off out of the office, almost running out of the building and to his truck. John climbed inside and sped out of the parking lot, not even aware of where he was heading and nearly on autopilot drove out of the city.

Reese didn’t realize that he had made it home, parked the truck in the two car garage at the back of the property, and killed the engine until the echo of the automatic garage door thudding closed on the concrete snapped him out of his stupor. John shook his head to clear it of the painful memories clouding his vision until the garage wall with its shelves of unused power tools and hanging gardening implements came into focus.

The door leading into the house opened into the home’s kitchen. Three strides took him to a cabinet overhead that contained an unopened bottle of whiskey. John pulled it down and broke the seal in one motion before opening another cabinet full of glass tumblers. Reese filled the first one he grabbed, neat, and picked it up. He swirled the amber liquid a few times before lifting the glass to his lips and taking a long hard swallow. John held the tumbler in one hand and picked up the bottle labeled with a brand of blended Canadian that Jess loved with the other. They had purchased the bottle and put it up high in the cupboard, promising each other to toast one another’s happiness on James’ first birthday.

Reese topped off the glass and capped the bottle before turning to walk out of the kitchen. He stopped at a closed door, a blue handmade wooden plaque adorned with tiny kittens and puppies with James carved into it, hanging on the front. John ran his hand lovingly over the engraved black lettering before he reached down to turn the doorknob. There was just enough light coming through the closed curtain to see a wooden rocking chair. He barely reached it, collapsing into a sit, just as his shaking legs give out on him. John closed his eyes and started to rock himself in the chair.

 _J &J_ had just opened its third branch office in five years. There had been a small congratulatory celebration with Lionel, his wife Janice, their son Lee, John, and Jessica as the only attendees at the Reese home. Lionel and Janice had practically spent the whole three hours bragging about Lee with the doting mother pulling a seemingly endless number of photo keepers from her handbag. They held photographs taken right after Lee’s first breath and every event in their child’s life since. The mini albums contained everything from photographs of Lee’s first tooth to the most recent; pose after pose of Lee in his hockey uniform the day his team won the junior championships.

That night as John and Jessica lay in bed, his wife curled into him and told him she wanted to quit her nursing job and start their own family. “I want to drag around a pocketbook full of photographs,” she’d whispered wistfully in her husband’s ear.

Reese opened his eyes, gulped down another swallow of whiskey, before shutting them again.

Jessica had quit her job the next day; for the next five years she had decorated their home, landscaped their yard, and cooked their meals. John hoped that one day she would tell him she was eating for two now and finally it happened. He found a silver baby rattle next to his plate. John almost pulled the entire table’s contents on the floor when he reached over to hug her. They finally were pregnant.

The Reeses spent the next eight months decorating the nursery, attending Lamaze classes weekly and going together to her obstetrics appointments with Dr. Madani, the best OBGYN in the state according to every resource they looked up and Janice Fusco too.

John hated going to work as Jessica’s due date neared, but she had lumbered around the kitchen, her belly full with child, making her husband eat the breakfast she had fixed and shoved him almost literally out the door. “I’ll be fine, I have everyone in the tri-state area on speed dial. Now go. Catch some bad guys!”

Reese actually wasn’t catching any bad guys as he sat in his office trying to figure how to gather all up the baby gifts from clients and employees that were covering his desk and take them out to his truck so he could get some work done. He was reaching for the phone to call up one of the clerks to help him with the task when the intercom buzzed, his panicked secretary asking him to hurry and answer line one. Jessica had been taken by ambulance to New York-Presbyterian.

John had broken every speed limit to get there but by the time he made it to Jessica’s room they were prepping her for an emergency C-section. One of the nurse’s gently but firmly pulled him out of the room.

Tears slid down John’s face as he rocked and rocked, the glass slid from his hand, the amber liquid splashing on the powder blue carpet.  

Reese had paced the waiting room floor it seemed for hours until Dr Madani, still in scrubs, walked towards John to place a sympathetic hand on John’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, we did all we could.”

Jessica had called an ambulance when she began bleeding and cramping several hours after John had left for work. Their baby James had died sometime during the night and her body was aborting the fetus. Madani couldn’t get the bleeding to stop and ordered the C-section. The hemorrhaging only worsened after they had taken the stillborn baby and even an emergency hysterectomy failed to save his wife’s life. She had died there on the table.

Reese was allowed to hold his son, a beautiful boy with Jessica’s blonde hair and John’s facial features, for a few moments as he said his last goodbye to Jess. He placed the infant in his wife’s lifeless arms, bent to kiss her, whispering, “He’s beautiful honey. You did good. I love you.” John then walked out of the room and out of the hospital.

Jessica’s parents had made all the arrangements: the funerals and interments were still distorted nightmares John had tried to block from his memory.

The rocking slowed and stopped as Reese’s body gave into exhaustion.  

Reese woke up in the chair, the room in total darkness. When he stood his foot kicked the fallen tumbler. John turned on the nightlight to find the glass to pick it up, apologizing to Jessica under his breath for spilling on the carpet. When he stood John looked around the room; he had changed nothing, the room was still ready, waiting for its tiny occupant to come home.

John Reese had spent the last eight months never leaving the house, keeping the inside clean and spotless as Jess had done. John kept everything as it had been that tragic day; the house had become a shrine to a dead woman and child. John himself lived as a ghost within those walls and walked as he was now out of the nursery going from room to room turning lights on and off. His check complete John headed for the kitchen for another drink.

John sat with the refilled tumbler in his recliner going through their wedding album. Jessica looked so beautiful in her wedding gown. Zoe Morgan, the bridesmaid, was almost as beautiful in blue. “Everyone will be beautiful at my wedding,” Jessica had laughed. John grinned looking at himself and his best man in their penguin suits.

Reese got up to refill his glass when someone rang the doorbell. John stood stock still hoping the unwelcome caller would give up and go away. After whoever it was banged on the door for the third time, John finally walked over and swung the wooden door open. An angry and intentionally slurred, “What fuck do you want?” came out.

The small mousy haired man stood a bit taller, not the least bit frightened of someone who could snap him like a twig, and fired back, barely controlling his own anger, “I am terribly sorry for disturbing you at this hour of the night, but I barely avoided running over your dog. Although I am not responsible for the animal's current condition I still felt it was my duty to inform you that your animal is lying injured at the end of your drive!”

Reese was confused why the stranger would assume the injured dog belonged to him and apologized for giving the stranger an unfriendly reception, “I am sorry for my less than welcome greeting...you caught me at a bad time.” John kept the slur out of the apology and straightened himself to look past the little man towards the end of Reese’s driveway, “I don’t have a dog.”

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: The two take the injured creature to veterinarian, Sameen Shaw.


	3. The Dog Whisperer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Harold get the injured dog to the vet, John's old army training helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter only hurts if you feel pain for animals

 

Even though John Reese’s time in the service ended over a quarter of his life ago, the training from his time in the Rangers was just as ingrained in John, just as much of an involuntary reaction within his body as breathing itself. His mind separated itself from the effects the whiskey had done to his body. _Sobered in an instant_ was not some overused hyperbole, John literally **sobered in an instant**.

John’s sight focused on the edge of his property and he saw something struggling to drag itself further along the edge of the yard in the direction of his house. Some instinct within the fallen creature was compelling it to reach its salvation. Only Reese knew the animal’s struggles to reach a safe haven would only exacerbate the injuries the dog had suffered.

Controlled anger still radiated from the bespectacled man with the porcupine haircut, but it no longer seemed to be aimed in Reese’s direction but possibly at the anonymous owner of the suffering animal struggling to keep itself alive there in the semi dark lying in some unknown savior’s driveway.

Reese’s unexpected visitor opened his mouth to say something then clicked it shut when John ordered him to get back to the animal and to somehow keep it from struggling more. “I need to grab a few things and then bring my truck around. We need to get the dog to a vet.” The two locked eyes briefly but the small man turned and hurried back down the walk when John briskly added, “Now!”

Reese’s ability to observe things in just a second’s glance had John noting in his quick appraisal of the retreating figure that the man had suffered injuries of his own not long ago resulting in a debilitating limp and stiff body posture hampering his ability to move quickly. John didn’t have time to examine the skip in the beating of his heart as he observed the moxie of a man ignoring his disability and moving quickly despite it just to assist a helpless unknown animal.

Reese slammed the front door closed, hurried through the house to the linen closet and pulled out an older bed sheet. John grabbed his truck keys, shoving them into his pocket as he jogged through the kitchen and out into the garage. He tossed the sheet into truck’s bed, before jerking a wooden handled hoe and like handled rake from their hooks on the garage wall. Those also joined the sheet in the truck bed before Reese climbed into the cab and started up the engine. He gunned it a few times as he impatiently waited while the automatic garage door took its own sweet time in opening, John backed the truck out before the door had reached its apex and there was a screech of metal on metal as the door’s bottom scraped across the truck’s roof.  

The stranger’s SUV was parked on the side of the driveway opposite where a figure crouched over the dog as it lay, unmoving. As the truck’s headlights briefly illuminated them, Reese saw that the crippled little man had managed to kneel beside the injured animal and was stroking its head. The thought quickly crossed John’s mind, “ _Stupid fool. You'll get your hand bitten off._ ” Only when John pulled the truck onto the grass next to them and got out, he heard the man crooning softly to the dog as it whimpered and licked at his hand.

Reese jumped out of his vehicle; side eyed the two before leaning over the truck bed’s side and scooped up the sheet tucking it under one arm. John then picked up the gardening implements one in each hand. _Glasses_ looked puzzled as he watched Reese toss the tools on the ground next to them and shake out the bed sheet. John didn’t waste time explaining, just tore two edges of the sheet into evenly spaced long strips before tying them together to make loops. With battlefield efficiency John soon had the dog lying in the middle of the sheet without any unnecessary jostling to further injure the canine.

Next Reese slid the handles of the hoe and rake through the loops of the makeshift stretcher, one on each side. With no time to wait on the lame man to struggle to his feet, John reached under the guy’s arm and pulled him up. “We need to pick the dog up and get him in the back of the truck.”

“I...I don’t think I can,” the man’s voice wavered, unsure.

“Of course you can,” John encouraged him as he moved the doubtful man where Reese needed him to stand.

John picked up the handle of the side of the stretcher closest to them and instructed _Glasses_ , “Grab this. Hold on as tight as you can. I’ll grab the other side and maneuver my end into the truck bed. Got it?”

When John saw him nod yes, he picked up the other handle. Although the dog looked to have been underfed he still weighed a good fifty pounds. Reese heard the other man grunt in pain but he held fast to his end while moving jerkily towards the truck bed as John maneuvered the rigged up gurney into it. Reese hopped up alongside the stretcher and pulled it forwards toward the cab, then jumped out next to _Glasses_.

Someone needed to stay in back with the dog while someone drove the truck. “The keys are in the ignition. You drive!” Reese ordered. John could sense the wheels of doubt spinning as the appointed driver surveyed the height of John’s four-by. _Glasses_ squeaked in mild indignation when Reese picked him up bridal style, deposited him on the edge of the front seat, then lifted his legs up turning them and the man’s torso to sit behind the wheel. John turned the key in the ignition so the truck roared to life, then hit a button on the dash, “Sameen Shaw, DVM.” An electronic voice repeated the name. “Just follow Garmin’s directions!”

John closed the door, hopped back into the truck bed, and thumped the truck roof. _Glasses_ understood the signal and drove the truck onto the highway turning in the direction of Shaw’s clinic.

There were closer veterinarians, but John knew Sameen from back when Jessica was still in nursing. Shaw had been a brilliant resident at the same hospital where his wife worked. Sameen had washed out in her residency though because of something John had been told, as Jess had put it, “Dr. Shaw had the bedside manner of Attila the Hun.” That didn’t mean Shaw wasn’t a healer; she was an excellent doctor. Only now she healed animals. If the dog was to have any chance of making it, Sameen Shaw was the animal’s best hope.

 _Glasses_ must have called ahead because when they arrived, two of the clinic’s veterinary assistants were waiting at the emergency entrance. Reese followed them as far as they would let him go as he watched the two assistants carry the dog on the sheet stretcher beyond the _no owners allowed_ double doors. John turned when he heard uneven steps approaching him from behind, and motioned with one arm towards a recessed area across from the doors with some chairs and a magazine covered table against the far wall.

The men sat down next to each other almost in tandem and waited. Reese turned when _Glasses_ cleared his throat after ten minutes. “I apologize for assuming you are the person responsible for these unfortunate circumstances. Thank you for everything you have done tonight. I am unfortunately ill-equipped to deal with emergencies such as this, while you conversely handled the situation quite admirably.” He offered his hand to Reese and a hesitant half smile that lit up his blue eyes. “I’m Harold. Harold Finch.”

The little man’s hand was soft, no calluses except at the index fingers. Layers of paper cuts seemed to have accumulated there. However, the grip was firm and strong, the palm was dry. John reacted positively to the handshake. It wasn’t electricity or some stupid rom-com fate moment but it was telling. John had a good sense of people, he had to in combat situations. This moment was screaming at John, _this man is good, kind, sharp, and clever. This man can be trusted._

It was different from the spark of something John had felt when meeting Lionel for the first time. That had harkened the beginning of a close friendship and working relationship. This was more. John couldn’t pin down exactly what it was, but he relaxed instantly.

“Apology accepted. I’m John. John Reese.”

 ~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: a new name and a new home


	4. Let's Call Him Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold and John wait on Dr. Shaw  
> Bear gets a name but doesn't get to go home, yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot to managerie for her contribution to this chapter

 

Harold Finch shook hands with John Reese, Harold’s smaller almost daintier one in comparison swallowed up by the larger thumb, fingers, and palm of the tall, dark, steely-blue eyed man sitting next to him. The stranger’s―no John’s―grip was firm not crushing, but Harold could tell there was a hidden power and strength in the person Finch had first assumed was an irresponsible drunk.

The events of the past two hours, if nothing else, had driven it home to Finch how wrong he had been to jump to conclusions and make snap judgments about a person he had never met before, a person he had observed for a sum total of thirty seconds beforehand. John Reese, for whatever reasons he had, had been drinking, but the man was far from an irresponsible drunk.

Still it had taken Finch ten minutes of sitting in silence next to Reese to be able to bring himself to apologize and offer his hand. Harold wasn’t a man to hedge around when it came to admitting he was wrong when he knew he was. Why did he wait this time? It wasn’t that Finch assumed for a moment he hadn’t judged someone wrongly before he had even laid eyes on them; he had been a judgmental ass. Reese had every right to throw any words of explanation right back in his face. Is that why Harold had hedged? Why the extreme relief when Reese accepted his apology? Even more; why did he feel, something, when John took his hand and held it in his grasp not letting go until they were interrupted?

Their hands dropped as both men turned their heads to watch the clinic’s receptionist coming into the waiting area with a clipboard of forms to fill out. The young woman understood the dog did not belong to either of the two men, nevertheless, she asked them to answer what they could for the clinic's records. Harold took the clipboard from her hands before she walked away, only he just stared at the questions because he had no idea how to answer any of them. Reese leaned in close to look them over too, then took the clipboard from Harold’s hands, “May I?”

With the exception of the dog’s name, something neither men knew, John answered the rest. “Lefty,” Harold observed as the other man wrote on the forms with his left hand. Finch hadn’t shied away from the close contact when Reese had moved nearer to look at the forms and now Harold could feel the play of the muscles in John’s left arm against his side as the man’s left hand scribbled words onto the forms. “This is insane,” Harold told himself and tried to focus on what John was writing.

Finch took note John had written in Belgian Malinois for the breed. Harold had thought the injured dog to be a shepherd of some kind. However upon recalling an article he had read at one time about that particular breed and despite the deplorable and almost unrecognizable appearance of the animal they had rescued Harold agreed that what John had written was correct. It did pique Finch’s curiosity however how Reese knew about the breed. The Malinois were not dogs that one brought home to be the common family pet.

Reese paused for a moment at the part that asked name of the party responsible for the medical costs and then wrote in his own name. It surprised Harold that John had only hesitated a second before taking on the obligations of the veterinary costs, but what surprised Harold even more was when he told John to correct the entry. He pointed at the line where Reese had printed his name, “Add my name. Add Harold Finch.”

Reese wrote down his own address and gave Finch a strange look when Harold told him what address to put down for Harold Finch. The receptionist returned just then to take the forms back to her desk. She glanced over the paperwork quickly before she looked at both men, “We have people bringing injured strays in here often, more often than you would think. Seldom do they accept responsibility for the treatment costs.” She nodded in the direction of the double doors. “He was lucky you two found him.” She added before going back to her desk, “Dr. Shaw should be out shortly.”

They two men sat there watching the doors in silence waiting for the veterinarian to come out to give them some news. Shortly turned into almost an hour and still no Dr. Shaw.

Harold had only heard John’s voice when he was annoyed or barking out commands so it was quite unexpected to hear the man’s softly spoken, almost a whisper, “You’re the one who lives in the mansion at the end of Cedarview Drive. My wife and I used to sit out in the yard at night sometimes and wonder who would be attending those fancy parties that always seemed to be going on up there. Jess would guess at the names of famous movie directors, actors, and actresses or even royalty.”

Finch chuckled at that, “No, no royalty. No box office legends. No one really all that famous outside of the literary world actually; although some of the authors we publish acted like prima donas. Not that my husband Nathan didn’t try to get well known members of the entertainment industry to come.” Harold clamped his mouth shut realizing he’d mentioned Nathan and braced himself for Reese to try and put some space between them finding out Harold was gay.

Yet, once again Finch had to admonish himself for judging John Reese incorrectly. Reese didn’t try to move away, didn’t act like he was sitting next to something disgusting, Reese didn’t move even a centimeter away, John just looked like he had been the one to let something slip he shouldn't have. John leaned back and wiped his face with a hand and closed his eyes tight. “I’m an idiot.”

Harold looked puzzled. John sucked a breath of air in and exhaled through his nose while leaning further back until his head rested on the wall behind. John glanced over at Harold before looking up at the ceiling. “If anyone should know better than to bring up a late spouse, it damn well should be me. I shouldn’t have brought up those parties. I didn’t mean to remind you of your husband. It just blindsides you, the grief, all over again; I know. I lost my wife and newborn son nine months ago. I shouldn’t have mentioned…I am so sorry.”

Harold’s face cleared, John thought he had stopped talking about Nathan because it was painful for him to do so. And John was right, talking about Nathan hurt still but not for this. Remembrances of those parties were looked upon with fondness, not heartache. John Reese didn’t even take pause to hear Harold was in a same sex marriage, John’s only concern was that he had hurt Finch unintentionally, because the same thing had happened to him.

“No need to be sorry. You’re right though. Just when you feel that you can finally breath again without the ache inside, that you are ready to deal with life once more, the sharp talons of sorrow come out of nowhere to latch onto your heart again.” Harold reached out to touch John’s arm, “You’ll see that time dulls the sharpness of those claws and the pain as well.” Harold’s gaze focused inward as he thought about Nathan and their last party, a barbecue; Nathan had charcoaled the steaks into ash. They ended up ordering twenty specialty pizzas and Harold had tipped the delivery person a hundred dollar bill. “The memories become bittersweet. It might be cliche, John, but time does heal.”

Harold hesitated to add more. Nine months ago Harold was still recuperating from the accident; at that time he was still so consumed with grief that people and events all just faded away into a fuzzy haze. Only he had never forgotten about sending condolences to the owner of the firm that handled security at the IFP building at the death of the owner’s wife, Jessica, and stillborn son, James. The news had touched Harold deeply because someone was going through what Harold was, devastating loss. John was that someone.

He looked over at John and decided to continue. “The scars remain of course. You wouldn't want your loved ones to be completely forgotten, as if they never existed. You want there to be some tangible evidence that this person who was so important to you, so very much a part of you, that they mattered, that their legacy lives on in you. It might seem maudlin to others who have never lost a companion or child, but your wife Jessica and your son James shouldn't be something you feel you have to keep to yourself. They might not be here anymore but that doesn't mean you can’t share them with the world. Nathan was larger than life to me. So of course that means that death should not be able to contain him either. Never feel like you need to hide your loss. It is a part of you now....” Harold rubbed his hand over his own right knee, “like a limp.”

John swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Thank you. I needed to hear that today.”

Harold noticed that in the other man’s eyes there wasn't anger at the intrusion or presumption. John truly understood what Harold was trying to say, how Harold was attempting to help. Harold thought that those who had lost so much should stop isolating themselves. The books Harold read on the subject advised group therapy and depending on the fellowship of friends and loved ones. Harold hadn't taken that advice and it had cost him many sleepless nights. Alcohol didn't mix well with Harold’s meds or he would have been in John’s place many nights. Harold was ashamed of himself for forgetting who lived at that house. A man in mourning shouldn’t be judged but assisted. Harold knew that better than anyone.

It was another thirty minutes before an angry looking brunette in a lab coat who stood about five foot nothing in her sensible shoes came out to growl at them. “He’s hurt, and sedated but he’ll live. Who did this to him?” She narrowed her eyes at Harold in accusation.

John stepped forward, blocking Harold from Shaw’s glare. “We don’t know who did this. Harold here was driving home and saw the dog limping to my yard. He stopped to help but the animal was too heavy for his hip and fused spine.”

Harold jumped at John’s words and action. For one, John had assessed Harold’s injuries pretty well. And for another, John was defending Harold, physically blocking him from any attacks be they verbal or otherwise from the irate veterinarian.

John continued in a smooth tone that held a note of menace, as if he were angry with this woman. “Harold thought I had left my dog unattended near a highway and gave me a lecture like you’re about to do. But Sameen, I promise you this guy went beyond the call of duty and is willing to share the cost of the medical bills, so back off. He is not the enemy.”

The doctor relaxed minutely. "Okay, Reese. Whatever, this poor Belgian Shepherd has been mistreated for longer than just tonight. Someone was starving him to just this side of death. That breed is military trained as you know Reese. Someone using a dog like this in the States but not keeping him fit ain’t the kind of person that wants to meet me in a dark alley.”

Harold looked confused by the whole affair. John turned to him and said, “The kind of dog he is is usually highly sought after in the military. I was in the Rangers and we used them occasionally. These are not family pets but working dogs. They are expensive. The training is labor intensive and harsh. Many dogs wash out. Someone who is using a former soldier dog stateside is probably a criminal and not a nice person. Shaw here isn’t a nice person either. She likes animals but people tend to annoy her."

John was smiling in appreciation and it made Harold lift the side of his mouth. “Ah, well people are cruel; animals never are.”

Shaw nodded at Harold, “Exactly. Your rescue is going to pull through. No internal damage just the compound fracture that might never heal right. He was dirty, but we cleaned the wound, gave him some antibiotics, and set the break. He will need to stay here for about three days to make damn sure he doesn’t develop an infection. Then he can go home, wherever that is.”

"My assistant will take you back to see him if you wish. He's under sedation, but I still don't want him disturbed."

With another nasty glare at them both, she spun in her heels and pulled a granola bar out of her pocket. She shoved the whole thing into her mouth and chewed around it like a chipmunk.

The male assistant, Todd, took them back to a row of larger cages, the dog they rescued in the end one. "Ten minutes the doctor says," the assistant reminded them before he walked further down the row of cages to tend to another dog.

The Malinois was hooked to an IV drip; fluids, antibiotics, and sedative were running into the drip lines. The lower right foreleg was covered in a cast, but both of the dogs front shoulders had been shaved and three jagged cuts stitched together. Someone had placed a ragged teddy bear in the cage with the dog and the Malinois looked to be protecting it, the dog's left leg covering the stuffed animal and hugging it under his muzzle.

There was a desk near the door they entered through. John walked over, grabbed a marker, and returned to the cage. Reese wrote 'Bear' over the _unknown_ that was printed on an id tag affixed the cage. Harold just nodded in agreement, as John declared, "Bear! We'll call him Bear."

Until the assistant escorted them back out to the waiting area, the two just stood there watching Bear the full ten minutes, to anyone who didn't know the circumstances, Harold and John looked like two doggie daddies watching over their son.

Back in the waiting area, Harold was at a loss what to do now. John turned to him and said, “We can visit him again tomorrow. I’ll take you back to your car.”

Harold nodded and made to follow the taller man.

They were silent on the way back. Harold trying to remember what the polite and socially appropriate thing to do when you found yourself caring for a dog with a virtual stranger. Nothing was coming to mind.

John slowed down and stopped his truck alongside Harold’s SUV. Harold jumped a bit and opened the door to the monstrous vehicle. John had been patient this time, allowing Harold to slowly and carefully climb into the passenger seat. Now, Harold had to basically control a fall. The truck was enormous. Determined, Harold made it to the ground safely. John waited until Harold started the Escalade and was driving away before John drove his truck back to his garage.

Harold was almost home when he realized he didn’t get John’s number and they had not decided when to see the canine, nor who would be taking him home.  

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise a mansion on a hill for Bear.


	5. Reflections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to menagerie for the beta read

 

Reese drove around to the back of the house to park his truck in the garage. He hit the brakes; the garage stood wide open, its automatic door had tried to close but was hanging awkwardly. Even with the windows rolled up, John could hear the whirl-squeal-clunk the drive gears were making trying to push the jammed door down.

 _Good one John, you fucked up the door again. Jess is gonna tear you a new one._ Reese thumped the steering with his hands before letting his head fall back against the truck seat’s head-rest. He braced himself for the inevitable stab of pain to his heart and the lurch in his gut as the world gave out from under him when reality hurled into him once more; Jess was gone. John’s eyes began to mist over and he scrunched his eyelids shut to hold back the tears. Only the feeling of falling into the dark hole of despair never came, strong hands reached out to catch him, the voice of the little man telling him, _“I’m here John. You’re not alone anymore.”_

Reese sat up, blinked his eyes, and looked to his right; Harold wasn’t sitting there anymore, John was the only one in the cab. The clock in the truck’s dash read 2 am. It was the hour of the morning and the culmination of the events of the last few hours taking their toll on his already weakened state of mind that had him imagining Finch’s hands reaching out to catch him and hearing Harold’s voice comforting him.

Reese laid his head back and begin to think about what Harold had said in the waiting room at Shaw’s clinic. John knew that Harold Finch was a private person, nothing much was publicized about the husband of Nathan Ingram and even less after Ingram was killed. Yet, this person who shared so little of himself with the outside world, had seen John’s grief and shared his own to offer comfort to a complete stranger. What Harold had said to him was true.

After his wife and baby’s funerals, it had felt like the world had moved on, that no one wanted to dwell on the loss. Only John wasn’t ready to move on, to forget what he had lost. Everywhere he looked in the home they had shared were painful reminders Jess was gone. And his son, James might not have been born to most people, but John knew him for months, even years. They had wanted a child so much and every step they took to bring James into the world was taken together. To John, James was a real person, fully formed. To everyone else, James was just a name on a marble square in a cemetery; Jess’ was one now too. So John had secluded himself from people; as painful it was to keep Jessica and James alive, if only in memoriam in the house where they both lived.

But Harold was someone who understood, who knew what John’s loss felt like, to want the memories of their lost loved ones to not be locked up and stored away as soon as the funerals were over. John wasn’t doing the whole grieving widower thing wrong. It was everyone else, those who have been lucky enough to avoid this stage of life so far, they were out of step. Jess and James might be buried but they should not be forgotten. John was grateful to Harold for sharing that.

The little man with the limp and crippled back who had twice the inner strength of anyone John had met before, might not be physically capable of lifting John’s weight, but his words and actions had prevented John from emotionally falling into the abyss.

The noise of the garage door’s closing mechanism, unheeded when Reese’s attention had been drawn away exacted his full recognition when the squeal become a non-stop screech. John bolted from the truck, ran into the garage and pulled the power cord to the electric motor. He was probably too late to save the thing as puffs of smoke wafted out of it and the smell of burnt wiring permeated the garage. John shook his head, walked back out his truck, and locked the vehicle up.

Within fifteen minutes Reese, with no less proficiency and timing than field stripping his AK47, had taken everything apart to be able to close the garage door manually. The warped door needed some hammering with a mallet and twisting with his bare hands to slide the locking bar into place but Reese managed that in even less time. Satisfied everything was as secured as could be under the circumstances, Reese turned off the overhead lights and went into his house.

While reaching into the fridge to grab something cold to drink, it had dawned on John they hadn’t discussed arrangements for going together to see Bear later that day. Shaw’s office had his number on record so he hadn’t asked for Finch’s to put on the forms and Harold hadn’t offered it. Better judgement told John he should just wait for Finch to contact him, but for some reason he just felt the unexplained need to talk to Harold again as soon as possible. Discussing plans to see Bear gave John an excuse to contact him.

So instead of heeding his good sense, Reese ended up sitting in his recliner, drinking a cold soda, while waiting on Brent Garrett, the graveyard shift supervisor at _J &J_, to call him back within the thirty minutes Brent told John that it would take to pull the files. _IFP_ was one of their clients and would have the owner’s contact numbers in cases of emergency. Reese waited anxiously for the call back from _J &J_.

It wasn't even fifteen minutes before Garrett called him back, but it had seemed like hours. Brett gave him three numbers, one for the Ingram’s landline, a cell for N. Ingram and another for H. Finch. John took a long gulp of the soda then dialed the number for H. Finch. The call barely had time to connect before there was a breathless, _“Hello! This is Harold.”_

***

Harold drove through the gates and up the curving drive that lead to his and Nathan's home. Harold didn’t dwell on it, but for the first time in almost two years when he walked through the intricately carved oaken front doors, the house’s aura wasn’t of desolation, of forlornness. Most of the help, except Patrick Simmons, Harold had eventually let go after Nathan’s death, yet even when there was a full staff of servants in the house Harold felt totally isolated and alone.

Patrick met him at the door to pull the Escalade around to the garage. Harold’s oft-times surly appearing personal assistant, looked generally relieved when Harold pulled up to the mansion and the man brightened even further to find out nothing serious had happened with his boss when Harold quickly explained about the injured dog he had taken to the veterinarian with John Reese’s help.

Apparently Patrick was familiar with John, “I know of Mr. Reese, Sir. A fine young man.” Patrick was in his mid seventies so anyone under the age of sixty including Finch were still young men. As Harold handed the Cadillac’s keys over to Simmons, he told Patrick that he only wanted a light snack brought up to his room. There was no need for Simmons to fix him a heavy meal this time of the morning.  

The mansion was a huge c-shaped three story affair with bedrooms on the second and third stories, but after the accident Harold had the first floor’s west side remodeled into a bedroom, private bath with a walk-in tub and shower, connected to the bath **—** a sauna room complete with Jacuzzi. A physical rehabilitation room with entrances to both the sauna and a combination library-study-office was in between the two. A sunken living room with retractable gold filigreed doors closing off the dining room and kitchen, along with one of the the servants’ quarters, where Simmons stayed now, were on the first floor’s east side. The house’s entrance, a wide hallway lined with chairs on one side, a settee on the other with ceramic urns filled with potted trees and plants interspersed in between led past other sets of retractable doors and to the staircase. The rest of the house stayed empty, Nathan was the one who’s invitations keep the guest rooms filled, now that he was gone…

When Harold was finally able the relax in his room, he tried to recall Reese’s phone number from memory. He really should have paid more attention as John filled out the forms at the veterinary clinic. Maybe he might have remembered John’s number. He tried dialing the clinic, but the call kept being forwarded to the answering service. It really wasn’t an emergency as getting someone’s phone number could wait until business hours.

Harold had a hard time suppressing this unusual need to hear John Reese’s voice again. It really could wait until normal hours to call Reese anyways. While eating the snack Simmons had prepared, Harold decided to take a bath and then retire until later that morning.

When Simmons knocked at Harold’s door and entered when bidden to return the dinner tray and dishes to the kitchen, he paused in his duties to query his employer, “If I may, Sir? Your chance meeting with young Mr. Reese, although under the most unfortunate of circumstances, seems to have ended well. Yes?

Finch looked up at his closest friend next to Leon and smirked “You can drop the formalities, Patrick. We’re alone here.” Simmons posture noticeably relaxed and Patrick returned Harold’s smile. Simmons’ knowing grin widened when Harold added optimistically, “Yes it did end well, well enough that we are meeting again tomorrow.”

Patrick huffed, “Well it’s about damn time Harold. You need to get out again; quit spending all your time with an old geezer like me.” Simmons picked up the tray, the formal manservant again, “I’ll leave you to your rest, Sir. Ring when you will be needing me again.”

Finch slipped back into his employer roll just as quickly, excusing Patrick with a nod, “I shall. Good evening, excuse me, I mean good morning, Simmons.” Simmons closed the door and was gone before Harold’s mind processed that Patrick had assumed that he and Reese were meeting again socially, not to check on Bear. Yes, their meeting had ended well, but not for that not for a date. Everything turned out well because Bear's injuries thankfully hadn’t been as life threatening as they had first appeared to be.

Only something **had** happened between John and he. They had bonded, _the only word Harold could think of_ , over like experiences in dealing with their own personal loss. Harold had felt desolate in his grief. Even now, although he had eventually found support in Leon and the surly Simmons, he still felt alone. The two men hadn't faded out of Harold’s life, were there when Finch eventually sought them out, but they really couldn’t comprehend Harold’s pain because they had never suffered the tragic loss of a spouse. John Reese had. Harold had finally found someone who really truly understood.

Only that didn’t explain the strange need to hear John Reese’s smoky, tender voice again not even two hours after they had parted. There was nothing he could do about it now except sleep for a few hours and try again when the clinic was open.

Finch had just started towards his bathroom to attempt to relax in a nice hot soak in the Jacuzzi when his cell phone rang. The caller ID said unknown caller but Harold somehow knew it was Reese. Breathlessly he answered, “Hello! This is Harold!”

_“This is John. I didn’t wake you did I?”_

“No, no I wasn’t asleep. I’m still wide awake. Trying to find ways to decompress, it’s been a rough eighteen hours. I thought the Jacuzzi may help.”

_“Jacuzzi, huh?”(teasing laugh.) “I won’t keep you long. What time did you want to go to Shaw’s clinic?”_

“Once I get to sleep, I doubt I’ll be up before one, one-thirty; my meds work that way. How does three sound?”

_“Sounds good. You want me to pick you up? Your place is on the way.”_

“Okay, meet me here at two-thirty. But if you don’t mind, we’ll take the Escalade. The pass code to the gate is 12-31-06-15-60. My assistant has the weekly household errands to run and won’t be here to buzz you in the gate.”

_(Another amused chuckle)  “Personal assistant, security gate? Okay, I’ll see you then._

_“Goodbye Harold.”_

“Goodbye John.”

Harold disconnected the call, looked at the time, and decided to forgo the Jacuzzi and instead opted for a quick shower. Showered and dressed in his pajamas, Harold slipped into bed, arranged the pillows and closed his eyes. Only tonight Nathan wasn’t his last thought as he drifted off.

~~~

John Reese looked out his bedroom window at the lights illuminating the mansion on the hill, wondering which room was Harold’s. He laughed at his folly, crawled exhausted into bed, and for the first time in nine months he didn’t hug Jess’ pillow to him as he tried to go to sleep. As John drifted off, he saw Jessica smiling and looking past him at someone else. John turned and saw a small man with mousy brown hair and watery blue eyes behind wire rimmed glasses smiling back.

***

Reese whistled as he drove through the gate towards the mansion. _"It’s huge!_  " John observed as he drove closer. There’s a vacant gate house that’s bigger than his place. Harold was standing outside in front of wooden doors that most likely cost more than his fifty thousand dollar truck. Finch waved to him to park beside his Escalade and limped over to its driver side door. Harold was inside the Cadillac with the engine running when John eased himself into the passenger seat. His truck had bells and whistles coming out its tail pipe, but this, John looked around the interior, this made his truck’s interior look like the inside of a plain paper sack.

Unlike the ride home earlier that morning, the men made small talk about one thing or another until John brought up finding Bear’s owner. “I have a buddy still in the service who trains canines for the Army. He says all we need to give him is the ID number tattooed in the Malinois' right ear and he can track down who received the dog after its basic training. I doubt that they are the one who mistreated Bear, but it’s a place to start.”

When they entered the front of the clinic, the receptionist paged someone to come up front. John Reese and Harold Finch were waiting to see their dog. Dr. Shaw herself came out to take them back to Bear’s cage. She still acted like she was pissed at the world, Harold in particular, which had Reese standing between the two again.

Bear was no longer hooked to the IVs. Although he was still laying on his side, the ragged teddy bear next to him, Bear would raise his head when something attracted his attention. There was however a Velcro fastened blue muzzle around his snout. Dr. Shaw explained that although the dog hadn’t attempted to bite anyone, he had shown his teeth and growled at her or the attendants.

She warned Harold not to do anything but just stand there and wait while she motioned for Reese to come with her. She closed her office door once they were inside and threw her clipboard on the desk. “If I ever get my hands on whoever mistreated that dog! I tried to find his tracking chip. Some asshole cut it out with a damn pocket knife. There's a scar as big as my thumb between his shoulder blades.” Shaw picked up a snap-shot off her desk and shoved it in John’s hands. Reese felt like throwing something heavier than a clipboard at something other than the top of her desk when he looked at the photo.

“God Damn It!” Reese cursed loudly. It was of a dog’s ear, the inside scarred over where someone had cut out the tattoo.

Shaw’s anger ramped up another three notches, “And now I have to report him as a vicious dog because the only reason he hasn't bitten anyone is because he’s doped up and muzzled. I can’t let you take him Reese. The dog is dangerous. It’s not his fucking fault and he’s going to be the one that gets put down, not the ones that made him this way.”

“Don’t report him Shaw. You gotta trust me on this. Come on.” Shaw followed Reese back to the cages. She was about to ask what John was doing when Reese held his hand up to silence her. John opened up the cage and motioned for Finch to come stand next to him. “Just do what you did last night Harold.”

The hair on the dog’s back was bristling and a menacing rumbling was coming from its chest, but the growling stopped and the hair flattened when Harold started the same crooning noises he made to the dog the night before.

“Go on, Harold, stroke his head and back like you did last night.” When Finch looked at him doubtfully, John urged him again, “Trust me he won't even try to snap at you.” Harold swallowed, smiled feebly, and reached in to stroke the dog’s head. Bear just closed his eyes and leaned his head into the touch.

Shaw whispered, “I’ll be damned.”

Harold kept stroking the dog’s head, as they both relaxed Harold moved to run his hand down Bear's back and back up to scratch the dog's ears. Over and over Finch repeated the cycle until the dog went to sleep. John tapped Harold’s arm motioning for him to follow Shaw into her office, Reese closed the cage door and followed right behind them.

There wasn’t a decision to be made any more about whether they were taking the dog home or not, but simply when they could. “Shaw, Finch here is taking the dog to his place. I’m going help him tend to Bear, teach Harold the commands, and re-train Bear to be Harold’s assist dog.”

When Harold made to protest that he’d never owned a dog in his life. Reese looked Finch square in the eyes, “And you still don’t. Bear chose you.”

Finch nodded okay and smiled weakly, “I hope Simmons isn’t allergic to dogs.”

Tuesday at 3:00 pm Bear was going home to his mansion on the hill.

~~ * ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bears new home  
> (not every x-soldier dog meets a personal assistant or a reclusive billionaire)


	6. Plans Are Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made, a friendship is forged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize, this is one huge chapter.  
> Thanks to managerie for her beta and her addition.
> 
> (Patrick Simmons is a great guy in this universe.)

 

Shaw had both men return to the waiting room after letting them check on ‘their’ dog one more time. Bear was still sound asleep, the only indication the canine was aware of the cacophony of noises around him—the barking and whining of dogs in other cages, mewling of cats and kittens in the smaller cages on the opposite side of the recovery room, the sounds made by the other types of Dr. Shaw’s _patients_ , veterinary technicians going about their duties—was the flicking of the scarred ear to catch the sounds.

John Reese’s anger towards whoever was responsible for the Malinois current condition cooled just a fraction. At least the canine’s training hadn’t been completely undone. Even though Bear was hurt, drugged up from pain medication and sedatives, the animal was keen to the sounds around him. If not for the condition the former military dog was in now, Bear would have instantly become alert if those well trained ears caught the sounds of a potential danger to his handler.

When Bear was well on the road to recovery and Reese could begin retraining the shepherd, one element of that training, to protect his handler would be the least difficult of all. The dogs aren’t just paired with any name on a list; there is the right handler for each canine trainee—the perfect working relationship. A bond is formed and strengthens over time. Yet it’s a process that rarely happens instantaneously, and even rarer still does that bonding happen twice.

Yet, it did here. There was no doubt in John’s mind that Bear was ever a wash-out and never had been paired with _ **his**_ handler. John and Shaw just didn’t know how the Malinois had been separated from his partner, ending up in the hands of someone who had to starve and mistreat him to get him to obey. Harold wouldn’t have that problem; Bear instantly and completely trusted Harold for some reason.

Reese understood the feeling. For some reason, John wanted everything with Bear to run smoothly. He wanted Bear to be easily rehabilitated; needed to know that Bear will be up for the task of assisting and protecting Harold. Reese didn’t understand why, but he had a strong need to know that Harold was being guarded when John couldn’t be there.

Harold had one hand, fingers splayed over the cage door’s front and John barely heard him, “You’re coming home with me Bear, no one will ever do this to you again. They’ll have to get by me first.”

 _And me_ , John added in his head. Reese sensed almost the instant he opened his door to see the angry little man on his stoop, that Harold Finch the name John knew him by now, had more courage packed in that tiny frame than a man twice his size. Finch hadn’t backed down one iota confronting someone twice his size when Reese had drunkenly barked at him.

Only Harold Finch wasn’t John’s size nor had Reese’s physical attributes. Finch might have the mettle still inside, but outside, his body was small, nearly broken in two. John had to keep Harold safe, someone who within a little over twenty four hours had become so important to John, so connected to him, almost as if Harold was connecting John back to this world.

Todd showed them out again but handed John a thick packet of aftercare instructions. Also included in the packet was a list of items that the canine would need to help in the care for the injured dog as well as normal everyday items needed in caring for a healthy animal, none which Shaw assumed either men would have.

Once more the men confirmed with the assistant they would be back at three the next day. Dr. Shaw was nowhere to be seen, having another _patient_ to attend to, but Todd assured them that Bear would be ready to be released at that time.

John rode shotgun again while Harold drove them back to his place. Reese read off some of the items on the list out loud while Finch drove. Harold nodded negatively at portable dog kennel, and each time John looked over after reading off the next thing on the list. By the fourth ‘No’ Harold just sighed loudly and said, “I have nothing on that list, John. I have never owned a dog in my life. We just need to give the list to Simmons and he’ll take care of it.” Harold grimaced, fingers nervously clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel, “After I tell him we now have a dog of course.”

John frowned, “I don't think this Simmons guy would know what to get a military trained dog who is injured but will soon become your assistance dog.”

Finch turned his concentration away from the road to look at Reese, his thought process mulling John’s words as they started to hit home. Harold turned to focus on the road again, lips pressed together, his jaw clamping and unclamping as he worked out some indecision. The Malinois may be his to care for and protect for just the time being, but Bear was going to be his companion, his protector for as long as the canine lived.

At the next stop light Harold leaned over and handed John a card from his wallet. “Here. Just go out and buy whatever you think we’ll need.”

John took it and almost dropped it as if it were about to bite him. It was a black Am-ex card. No limit. Some of his company’s most wealthy clients, ones that came along years after the company earned its reputation, long after Reese no longer handled the financial end of the business, supposedly paid up their accounts with these, but seriously until now John hadn’t believed these things even existed. “Uh, Harold? This is your credit card! You want me, a near stranger to take your no limit credit card to a pet shop. You’re just gonna let me have this?”

Harold drove through the intersection when the light turned green and shrugged as if the cost meant nothing, ‘It’s not like I can’t afford it if you splurge a little. Besides, I am a good judge of character. You aren’t going to book a flight to Jamaica with it to never return. You’re just going to the store and back. I can cancel anything I see on the bill that I don’t like.”

 _Jeez, did Harold just trust people like this all the time? Bear was needed more than ever for this babe in the woods._ John still felt uncomfortable “Yeah but still, your credit card?”

Harold looked exasperated. “Oh for heaven’s sake. The card is a corporate account, it has more insurance on it than the Trump Tower. I didn’t hand you my personal credit card with all my data on it. It’s just a card that is easier to make bulk purchases. Anything you buy will show up on my phone within twelve hours. I have to authorize them before the purchases come out of the account. If I don’t then the police are notified and whoever used the card last will go to jail. I’m not some country bumpkin. I have lived in New York most of my adult life. I do run a _Fortune 500_ company you know.”

John laughed, “Alright! Alright. I just never had someone trust me that quickly before. Most people take one look at me and hold their children or their wallets closer to their chests.”

Harold glanced over at John totally bewildered that anyone would ever think of John Reese like the man was some scourge, “I have no idea why anyone would think you capable of anything nefarious. You are a war veteran and an honorable man. Even Simmons says so and he hates most everyone.”

This Simmons is obviously someone whose opinions mattered greatly to Harold Finch. Nevertheless, John was unaccountably warmed by this compliment. Not that some guy liked him, but that Harold couldn’t see anyone not liking John.

“Alright then that’s settled. I’ll break the news to Simmons. We can decide where Bear will reside while you acquire all his accoutrements at the place of your choosing, that I will purchase.” Harold deadpanned as he peered over at Reese, John’s laughter now just a huge grin. That overall warmth Reese had been feeling compressed itself and encased John’s dormant heart when Finch’s lips, constrained at the seriousness of the situation, turned up slightly at the corners then morphed into a huge smile that lit up Harold’s eyes and face.

“What?” Harold chuckled when John’s grin widened even more.

 _My god, he’s beautiful!_ John shook himself mentally. W _here did that come from?_ Reese couldn’t deny he’d felt attracted to Harold Finch almost immediately, but as a new found confidant—someone who had been where John was now—and a friend. Finch’s physical frailties had certainly summoned Reese’s need to protect. But this? John didn’t have time to answer either question, the one in his mind or Finch’s 'what?' They had reached their destination.

Harold looked back at the road ahead and reached towards the dash to press one of the control buttons, “Simmons we’re almost there.” He sucked in a shaky breath then looked over at Reese, “Here we go.”

The gates to the estate were opening, perfectly timed to allow Finch to drive the Escalade through them without even slowing. A large man, silver hair cropped close military style, his stance former military too, stood outside the same double doors Harold had waited in front of earlier.

When Harold and John exited the SUV, the man Reese assumed was Simmons met the pair halfway. Finch nervously introduced John to the stern looking fellow Reese was quite sure could have taken him easily in hand-to-hand if John had met Simmons in the man’s youth. Harold’s assistant was easily twenty years both his and Finch’s senior, but the man still had an iron grip that had John wincing when they shook hands.

The thought flitted through Reese’s head that he hadn’t been scrutinized this thoroughly by Jessica's father when she’d taken John home to 'meet the parents' all those years ago. Reese felt he had passed some kind of test when Simmons bowed slightly, “A pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Reese.” The man then turned to Harold to ask if his boss required anything else.

Harold released his breath like he had been holding it in, “Yes Patrick, please meet me in my study after you have garaged the Escalade.”

Simmons nodded, “Yes Sir.” He looked Reese over once more, climbed into Harold’s SUV, backed the vehicle up and drove towards the rear of the mansion.

Finch watched until his vehicle was out of sight then turned to John, Harolds face was awash with a mixture of relief and elation. Jessica had the same look upon her face when her father had shaken John’s hand.

Reese bolted towards his truck, excusing himself gruffly, “I better get going.” Reese was in the truck and halfway down the drive before he looked up into the rear view mirror. Harold was still standing in the same spot, a look of bewilderment on his face. The gates must open automatically upon a vehicle’s exit John thought half-mindedly. Reese turned the truck in the direction of _Pets-R-Us_.

_Where in the hell did all of that come from?_

***

Finch watched Reese’s truck until it turned off of the estate’s drive, onto the road, and out of sight. Harold shrugged his shoulders and limped up the terraced steps of the walk and into the mansion. Now to break the news to his assistant that the dog that he and Reese had rescued was coming to live with Harold, permanently.

Harold Finch was technically Simmons employer; even though Simmons kept up the formality even after thirty years, Patrick had been the closest thing that both Nathan and he had had to a father. After Nathan had died Patrick had been the one to hold Harold, rocking him as if Harold were a small child the night Harold had broken down emotionally after months of grieving on his own.

So yes, Harold could just bring the dog into the house without Simmons having any say in the matter, but Patrick’s opinion as Harold’s father figure and friend did matter.

Simmons brought a tray of sandwiches and a large glass of iced green tea and set it on the table next to the chair Harold had taken in the study. “Will there be anything else this afternoon, Sir?” Harold motioned for his assistant to take a seat in the chair opposite. “Can we can forgo the formalities for a few minutes? There is something I need to tell you.”

Patrick took the proffered chair, looked at his charge and indicated with a raise of an eyebrow for Harold to continue.

Finch had never believed in beating around the bush. “The dog Mr. Reese and I rescued will survive; the veterinarian is releasing the shepherd into my care. The dog, a Malinois we have named Bear, will be coming here to recuperate from his injuries. Mr. Reese has offered his assistance in caring for the animal and when the time is right work towards rehabilitating him with his training as well. As a companion, an assist dog for me, this will be Bear’s new home.” Harold worried his lip, “I don’t even know if you like dogs.

Simmons snickered a bit before the sound grew into a fit of laughter. Harold was surprised by the reaction and glared at his friend, “What is so humorous?

Patrick’s laughter trailed off but not the amused look on his normally rigid features, “Nothing, nothing at all. For the first time in nearly two years I see some life back in your eyes and you are worried if **I** like dogs.” He wiped the tears of laughter out of his eyes. “I love dogs by the way and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t say a word. Now all you need to worry about is where your new friend Bear will stay.”

Harold breathed out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you Patrick.”

Thirty minutes later it had been decided between the two that the private covered patio off Harold’s study could be used temporarily as a doggie recovery room. The fresh air and openness wouldn’t feel confining to the animal that more than likely had been locked away someplace dark and cramped by the people who had mistreated him, yet the six foot tall, three feet thick, sturdy as a brick wall hedges surrounding that side of the mansion would keep the dog secure.

Simmons air of propriety returned as soon as their planning was finished, “I’ll await young Mr. Reese’s return and notify you as soon as he arrives, Sir.” As he was about the close the study door Harold called out, “Thank you, my friend.” Simmons face remained austere as ever but Patrick nodded and winked as he closed the door.

***

Reese hadn’t received an angry text or phone call from Finch demanding John bring his card back, so Harold might have been confused by John’s hasty departure, but not worried he had misjudged Reese after all. John drove the three miles down the highway to the pet supply store mulling it over in his mind what the hell just happened.

Reese pulled into a spot close to the entrance and turned off the engine. John sat there watching people go to and fro not really paying them much attention. Harold wasn’t the only one who was confused. Reese was puzzled just as much about his thought patterns surrounding Harold. His brain kept using Jess as an example when comparing Harold. It was bizarre. Before meeting Harold, any reminder of Jess and James had paralyzed John with grief. Now? Now Harold was bringing up reminders of courting Jessica, of getting serious, meeting the family. It was making John feel surreal, out of place and time. One minute it was a good feeling, warm and satisfying; the next John would wonder what the hell he thought he was doing.

Reese looked at his watch and decided now was not the time to dwell on whatever was going on with his jumbled emotions about Harold Finch right now. The man was waiting on him; with John just bolting without a word and already being gone way longer than was necessary, John didn’t want his weird behavior to give cause for Harold to rethink his blind faith in a man he had known less than 72 hours and call the authorities.

Reese checked his wallet to make sure the veterinarian’s list and Finch’s card were safe inside then jumped down from his truck. An overly zealous sales associate greeted John almost the second he entered through the automatic door, “Harold Finch called my manager. I’m to assist you in getting whatever you need.”

Thirty minutes later John Reese drove his truck, the thing resembling the monster truck version of Santa’s sleigh, back in the direction of the mansion. Finch had requested the best of everything for Bear and John made sure of that, but with trepidation he punched in the code to the gate’s keypad. Finch and his man Simmons were waiting by the service entrance in back of the mansion. Not one word was said by either man except to instruct Reese which item went where as he and Simmons unloaded the vehicle.

With the quickness and efficiency of a military bivouac Bear's new quarters were set up in no time. When the stoic Simmons left to prepare Master Finch’s dinner, Reese expected to have Finch read him the riot act. Instead, Harold politely asked if John would stay for dinner. Reese knew he should just keep quiet, but blurted it out anyways, “I know you didn’t expect all this.”

Harold merely smiled the adorable half grin of those uneven lips. “John, this may sound a bit braggadocio, but I have more money than I could spend in a thousand lifetimes. My son Will won’t take any of it and I have no one to dote on, so I may as well share the wealth.” Finch gestured with his hand at everything in the makeshift recovery room, “I think Bear deserves this and anything else I can buy to help make that animal’s life just a bit better.”

“Now John Reese, would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner? Simmons may not look the part of a chef but his veal piccata is excellent.”

Watching Harold look at him expectantly hoping, it was like the sun coming out warming his cold and frozen heart, John Reese wasn't confused any longer. He was falling head over for the little broken man whose big courageous generous heart had patched John’s own broken life back together so quickly it was a wonder John hadn’t knelt before the man with gratitude, blubbering stupid romantic tripe.

John shook his head and smiled. “I would love to have dinner with you.”

Harold’s small smile grew large and his little spiky head wiggled in an approximation of a bow. It sent tendrils of sparkling warmth through John’s body. _Oh man, I have it bad._

_***_

The dining room was a formal thing, with a buffet along the one wall. The table was ten feet long with ornately carved chairs. Deep velvets in jewel tones were splashed here and there. The china cabinet on the opposite wall looked like a _Service Merchandise_ or _Sears_ catalog. The head and foot of the table had armed thrones in amethyst. Side chairs were in emerald green. The tablecloth was real linen with a ruby red runner. Gold accents were everywhere. A few paintings in the modernistic style all had sapphire blue as the dominant color set in gold baroque frames.

John felt both under dressed and a little sad for the single man who had to bounce around in this huge, empty home. The phrase, ‘gilded cage’ popped into John's mind. Poor Harold. This whole place looked like it had been Nathan’s idea. Nathan, who was the epitome of a socialite. Nathan, who partied and mingled, who threw gala events, who graced the front pages of every newspaper. Harold hadn’t even had a public photo in the archives. Googling Harold Finch produced only text, no pictures.

If John’s tiny ranch style house had reminded him of his loss at every turn what must it be like to live in an entire structure designed and produced just for the person whose shadow you had happily lived in for over thirty years? What must Harold feel walking these empty halls alone? Jeez, no wonder Harold wanted John to have a meal with him. Casual conversation must be a rarity for him.

Harold indicated John should sit at Harold’s left while Harold sat at the head of the table. John figured Harold had picked up on John being a lefty. This way they wouldn’t bump arms while they ate. John was relieved they wouldn’t have to shout at each other from opposite ends of the table.

Simmons came in with a pitcher of iced green tea on a tray. He poured some into a tumbler each for John and Harold. Sugar, syrup, and a long handled spoon were presented to them. John figured he could sweeten the tea if he wanted and stir it with a spoon. John tasted the tea, it was fine without sugar for him. Harold added about one teaspoon of syrup to his.

Simmons left then came back with two salads and a carafe of some raspberry vinaigrette. Harold offered the dressing to John first. It was perfect with the spring mix and ripe Roma tomatoes. Simmons flitted about, coming in and out like a ghost. They had red wine in a second glass now with a water glass filled as well. John wondered how many courses they were going to have.

Harold wiped his mouth with the gold linen napkin and said, “We only do a salad and entree now. Simmons tries to push a dessert onto me, but I usually decline. Perhaps this time I will indulge.” He looked up as the man entered with their entree plates. “Simmons? What have you baked for dessert? “

The usually sour looking man servant smiled broadly. It was like watching a boulder crack. He bowed to each seated man to take away the salad plates and place the veal piccata on a bed of angel hair pasta in front of them. “Apple tarts with vanilla bean ice cream.”

Harold looked over at John with one raised eyebrow. John was flustered but managed to say, “That sounds delicious.”

Harold looked pleased that the dessert would be alright for John. They dug into the hot, breaded meat. It was fork tender and perfectly seasoned. John tried to resist rolling his eyes in the back of his head in satisfaction. He lost the battle. A moan escaped his lips. When John opened his eyes Harold was staring at him with a deep blush that reached his ears. John felt a little self conscious but it was good. Take-out and frozen meals for nearly a year weren’t much better than MREs and this was heavenly.

John swallowed and wiped his mouth to say, “It’s excellent.”

Simmons popped back in to top off their wine. John took this opportunity to thank the chef. “This is really good Simmons. Better than a restaurant for sure.”

Simmons bowed shortly but Harold preened with pride. Harold cleared his throat. “So, tomorrow we bring Bear here. Will you be able to stay the day? I have never had a dog, much less a military trained war vet who has fallen on hard times.”

John smiled in a lopsided fashion. “Not every ex-military dog meets a reclusive billionaire.”

Harold harrumphed and John continued. “Basically he needs to heal and feel secure. A lot of attention, lots of touching, face time, and letting him know you will be there.”

“Well, I don't have a jet-set life. I mainly read all day.”

John chewed a bit and took a sip of the really good wine. “You don’t go into the office anymore?”

Harold shook his head. “Not anymore. I still read manuscripts and make decisions on which books to publish, but I rarely deal with people. Having raised Will, I wanted to be a stay at home parent. Nathan went into the office everyday while I stayed home and went through galley proofs. We could have hired a nanny of course, but I felt that if he was our child then he deserved to raised by us. After Nathan passed I needed round the clock medical care. I have only recently been able to leave the house without a wheelchair. The other night was the first time I had conversed with a novelist in over two years.”

John sighed, “I hope all this ruckus won’t bring back bad memories or set back your rehab.”

Harold paused and looked to be thinking deeply, “It shouldn’t. I have done my formal grieving. The sack cloth needs to be lifted. I’m not dead and I could do some good with all this.” He indicated the house. “Bear will need to be walked and that would be good for my PT. I should be walking everyday. This way I have someone depending on me again. I always push myself farther when I have someone to help.”

John agreed. “Yeah, for myself I can’t even seem to get dressed in the morning. But if someone needs me? If the company wants to see me? Then I would crawl through broken glass to get there.”

Harold understood. “So, Bear will not only be an assistant dog for me but for you as well. A project to force you to get dressed.”

John smiled. “Yeah, if it is okay with you, I plan to come over every morning, check on Bear, start to recondition him to his new life. Then, I might spend the afternoon at the office. I’ve left things there in limbo long enough. Lionel is a good man and he can handle most anything, but I really should make an appearance in the company I built with Jess.”

Harold nodded. “Yes, I should as well but I just…” He sighed. “I am not Nathan. I don't **want** to be Nathan. Leon, while not as physically imposing as Nathan has the energy and the likability an agent needs. I’m good at knowing which books are quality and which are trash, but some of us are not good at social interaction.”

John laughed, “Well not calling it social interaction might help.”

Harold rolled his eyes at John which just made him laugh harder. Harold ended up smiling at John.

Simmons walked in and stood still, just watching them. John coughed self consciously and took another gulp of wine.

Harold leaned back to look at Simmons. “I think I’d like a second helping if we have it.”

Simmons gave them a broad grin and asked, “Would Master Reese like a second entree as well?”

John startled at the Master Reese bit but nodded. This was good food. Little vegetables had been sauteed in the sauce to be crisp and just done to perfection. It was more nutrition than he had had in months. All of a sudden he was ravenous when recently food was just something that he was obligated to do to stay alive. Right now, with the conversation and company, food was a delight. Also, John wanted to prolong this time together. Harold made him feel good, almost…

John blinked at himself. He was having a hard time identifying what he was feeling, it had been so long. John was happy.

He looked over at Harold who was smiling down at his glass of tea. John’s eyes meet Harold’s. Well, John figured it must be this project they were embarking on, helping a stray dog, Bear.

The dessert arrived shortly after this bomb shell.  It was warm and gooey. The ice cream melting into the tart. Simmons brought out coffee. He asked if John wanted decaf. John scoffed. “No. Fully leaded please.”

Simmons approved. Harold on the other hand was given some hot sencha green tea. John nodded. “You don’t drink coffee?”

Harold shook his head and chewed some of the tart. He swallowed and wiped his mouth. “No, for some reason I never liked coffee. I would scout out some great cafes for Nathan who was a java junkie, but I usually prefer tea. Some teas have more caffeine than coffee. So, it isn't the jolt. Mainly, the bitter quality of a strong brew just sours my stomach. But I do love the smell of coffee. It reminds me of late nights early on in the company. Nathan and I had to hand print many books. Like Gutenberg in some dank basement. Nathan would drown in pot after pot of coffee. It was before all this. Just the two of us trying to change the world.”

Finch looked down as if embarrassed. “I know that is silly but that is how it felt at the time. Two people who were carving a niche into the world, to make an impact on the reader. I miss those days sometimes. Nathan was always being pulled here and there, everyone needing him. In the beginning the only one who needed him was me. And he was always there.”

John understood. “Jess and I were a unit, fierce and determined. We had a battle plan and god help anyone who got in the way of that plan. We were going to have what we wanted and make a real impact in the world; security and health. Making people’s lives better.”

Harold brightened. “That’s it really. The loss of a person is one thing, you won’t get to see them anymore, but to lose your other half? The one person who connects you to the world, it’s like trying to walk after an amputation. People can sympathize but in reality, if they never lost a limb then they have no idea what you are going through. I can't tell you how many times I have turned to make a comment to Nathan only to realize no one is at my side anymore. It is like a phantom pain. I know intellectually that he is gone, but he was a part of me for so long that..”

John agreed. “Yeah, I still have a hard time saying ‘I’ instead of ‘we’. Your whole identity has been as a couple, as a pair. You can be close to people but to be the other half? That is something special and it takes a long time to get used to walking on your own again.”

Harold nodded. “Yes. The bond that is formed is special, unique. I felt so isolated, as if no one could understand what I was going through. I wanted to shout at the world, ‘You don’t know what I have lost. You don’t understand’. I was angry at the world for not acknowledging what it lost. I didn't just lose my husband, the world lost a great man.”

John lifted his wine glass in a toast and said, “To our better halves.”

Harold clinked his wine glass against John’s and took a sip. The appreciation and sheer gratitude was shining in his eyes. The message was reaching John loud and clear. ‘Thank you, I am not alone.’

 _No_ , thought John, _you aren’t alone anymore and neither am I._

They parted soon after with happy smiles and plans to meet in the morning to pick up their new pet project that afternoon. John didn’t know if it was the wine or the company but he slept well.

~~ * ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise next chapter  
> Bear gets his mansion on the hill  
> and if a dog can believe he has died and gone to heaven  
> it will be Bear


	7. Bear Comes Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bear comes home and his new daddies make peace with their late spouses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah!!! Bear goes home.  
> But of course its more about the boys lol

 

Finch stirred and blinked open his eyes. The morning light, diffused as it was through a sheer panel of palest blue, was warming his face. The navy blue draperies of wool sateen, adorned with golden brocade of tiny finches flitting among tiny tree branches, had been tied back with their matching gold satin cords. _Simmons?_

Harold pushed himself up to a sitting position before snatching his glasses off the nightstand to put them on and checked the time. He slipped the frames up to his forehead, rubbed at his eyes, pulled the glasses down and looked again… _ten thirty?_ Even after a night of pain free sleep courtesy of 2 percocet, Finch was usually up—showered, shaved, and dressed in his robe—before Simmons would make his morning appearance to air out the bedroom and set out Harold’s outfit for the day.

Finch had retired to his room last night mellowed by the delicious meal, the fine wine, and an evening spent with John Reese. Dressed in his night clothes and propped up by the mound of ergonomic pillows, Harold had settled in to read the manuscript Leon had begged him to look at after the meeting with Dorian Cooper. He’d only been two chapters into it—Leon was right, this was excellent, they needed to sign the author—he would call his friend first thing…

The typed pages in their blue binding were lying on the nightstand in place of the silver tray holding the crystal decanter of ice water, empty glass, and the bottle of percocet. Had he actually dozed off without medicinal aid?

Simmons quietly entered the bedroom door, a small tray in one hand. Startled upon seeing Harold awake sitting up in bed, the man covered it with a glib, “Ah, good, you're awake, Sir. I trust you slept well. I took the courtesy of letting myself in earlier when you hadn’t summoned me at your usual time. I have brought you some hot tea and a chocolate-almond croissant”

Simmons set the tray down on a small side table to check the suit he had hung from the wooden valet. “As per usual I’ve readied your clothing and if there is nothing else Sir, may I be excused? I am preparing brunch for you and Master Reese, who will be arriving soon.”

Simmons left the bedroom when Finch excused him. _John!_ Harold threw back the covers with an an expletive, “I need to get ready!” He’d showered, shaved, and dressed in record time. Now Harold was checking himself out in the full length mirror. He was only meeting John to finalize their plans before picking up Bear at Dr. Shaw’s clinic. Blue jeans and a short sleeved button-up could be considered overdressed so what he was wearing now might be equivocal to wearing a tuxedo to the supermarket. Yet, he preened, straightening then smoothing out tie, shirt, and vest.  

The tie of midnight blue flecked with tiny silver stars of David was knotted below his neck and disappeared under a woolen vest of solid blue, darker than the tie. Silver cuff links fastened the sleeves of the white pinstriped shirt of satin, its shade of blue only a hue lighter than tie and vest. Harold stopped himself from adjusting the tie the third time, _I’ve haven’t fretted this much over my appearance in the 32 years since Nathan finally asked me out on our first date._

Finch picked up the picture of Nathan taken at their last anniversary dinner and sat down on the padded seat of the valet. Harold ran his hand along the silver frame lovingly, “I still miss you my love, terribly. I came close to losing my mind with the grief of losing you; I nearly ended it all, if not for Patrick…” Finch shook away the images of that night, swiped away the moisture threatening to fall and swallowed hard, “I’m still here and life moves on, as much as I’ve railed against it. At least until three nights ago.”

Finch ran his fingers reverently over Nathan’s image. “You see I’ve met someone. His name is John Reese.” Harold sighed heavily even though his lips turned up in a hopeful smile. “That spot in my heart I thought was only meant for you, that would never share its space with another, amazingly has. I am falling in love with John, Nathan.” Harold nodded in agreement to a voice in his head, “Yes I know it's only been three days, but it only took three hours for me to fall hopelessly in love with my new roommate all those years ago.”

Harold sat the photo down next to him on the seat to finish dressing, putting on his shoes, and continued on with his admission, “I know I may never have that love reciprocated you see; John had a wife. I have to take that risk though; I would rather have John in my life even if we are nothing more than friends than to be all alone again.” With his shoes on and laced up Harold stood and returned the photo to its spot on the dresser and harrumphed, “Maybe I’ll be lucky twice in a lifetime. I married Nathan Ingram, ladies’ man, the most eligible bachelor on campus.”

***

John Reese kicked off the sneakers from his sock-less feet, stripping down as he rushed to his bathroom to shower, leaving a trail of discarded clothing behind him. The impatient ringing of the doorbell alternating with the chiming of his cell phone’s ringtone constantly repeating itself had finally roused John from his deep sleep. _The repair service!_

What with making preparations to help care for and retrain Bear, along with his growing attraction to Harold Finch, John had completely forgotten his appointment with the repair service of _Trask Automatic Doors_. The arrangement he had set up to have them replace the mangled garage door and the fried electrical components was today! John had thrown on the first thing within easy reach and slipped his bare feet into the worn out sneakers to go let them inside the garage.

Two hours later with a brand new and working garage door, Reese had signed off on the work order billing it to his credit card on file then rushed back into the house even before the repairman had closed their vehicle’s doors. He was stripped and in the shower before the men even pulled out of his driveway.

Scrubbed until his skin was pink and hair shampooed at least three times, Reese stepped out one side of the shower’s frosted sliding doors to stand dripping in front of the fogged up mirror. Using one of the plush bath towels he’d remembered to grab from the linen closet on his harried flight to the bath, he dried himself thoroughly, then took a corner of the towel and wiped away the condensation from the mirror over his sink of the double vanity.

Even though the face looking back at Reese was still gaunt and pale, covered with the stubble he really hadn’t bothered shaving smooth in months, the eyes were now sparkling and twinkling with life. John pulled out his razor and the shaving cream from the spot where they had been abandoned in the medicine cabinet, changed the blade and lathered up.

Twenty minutes later a clean shaven John—dressed in boxers and tee—slid hangers of shirts one after the other across the closet’s wooden rod. Reese really had no clue what he wanted to wear until he slid the hanger over holding a shirt of shimmering deep blue violet. John pulled it out, then repeated the procedure until he found slacks of darkest purple almost black.

Reese was never one for ties but he adjusted the bolo, its strings clasped together with an amethyst stone. Satisfied with his appearance, John stepped back from the full length mirror to inspect the entire ensemble once more, wondering if Harold would like it too.

Reese stumbled back to to flop-sit on the edge of the bed. He looked over at the picture of Jess still in its place of honor on his nightstand and laughed futilely, “Who am I kidding?” John then took in a shaky breath, “I met him, honey, the late Nathan Ingram’s husband. Harold was hurt, badly, crippled even from the accident. But his bravery, his heart...Harold reminds me of you and I’m falling in love with him.”

Johns voice cracked, “I’ll never love another woman Jess, you know what we had was special, you knew what I was when you met me, how much I loved Jimmy.”

Reese thought about meeting Jess in that hospital. Remembered the sorrow he felt watching his fellow soldiers die. John recalled the heartache of knowing that the man he loved was gone forever in an explosion that he couldn’t prevent. Waking up in that hospital bed had been painful, emotionally and physically. Reese’s military career was as tattered as his arm. Someone had to have noticed his reaction before the bomb went off, everyone in the unit would have guessed their relationship.

Upon waking he had shouted Jimmy’s name. The guy next to him must have realized what they were to each other. The nurse on duty was kind, but she wasn’t Jimmy. Jimmy was never coming back.

Reese thought about his injuries. The elbow had required pins. He hadn’t been allowed to serve for months while they rehabilitated him and removed all the shrapnel. John wanted to get back out into the field, he wanted to die an honorable death. He didn’t want to live without Jimmy.

That same kind nurse was back. She said to call her Jessica. She had a sweet smile. She wheeled him out to get some sun. They would talk. She understood him. One bad night John was tossing and turning, dreaming of Jimmy dying over and over again. The guy in the next bunk called the nurse. Jessica had night duty. She woke John gently. They walked the halls. Reese told her everything. What was the point of hiding anymore? The military would find out about John’s affair with Jimmy and he would be booted out. What was the point of anything?

Jessica had stopped them to sit in the solarium. She didn't seem shocked that John had been with a man, had loved a man. She asked questions. Was John gay? Why was he in the military if he was bisexual with a preference for men?

Reese spoke about his desire to protect people, that even though he fell in love with mostly men, he wanted to serve. Jessica asked if John had ever been with a woman. John said yes but he usually only felt deep feelings for men. But what was the point anymore? John didn’t have Jimmy and he soon wouldn’t have the army either.

Jessica had suggested that on her nights off, she and Reese make a point to be seen together, make plans to date, have everyone around see John flirting with a woman. She had pointed out that people could suspect all they liked but evidence showed that John liked girls.

The charade had gone on for months and it worked. Everyone just assumed that John and Jimmy had bonded in the band of brothers. Over the next three months Jessica had become a dear friend. She wasn’t the great passion in his life that was Jimmy, but she was a helpmate and companion. They got along great. A few days before Reese was to ship out they had sex. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Impulsively, Reese had proposed. He said that he wouldn't make her stop dating other men and he would do the same, but they were good together. A few hours before John left, the hospital Chaplain had married them off. And that was that.

John figured the marriage would buy him time to heal, grieve for Jimmy without people expecting him to become a ladies man. Jessica could use the marriage to keep some of the doctors away from her.

Turned out that Jess made a damn fine wife. She and John would get together when he had leave. Reese didn't even want to look for a man. Years after Jimmy died, Jessica was still the only one to share his bed. They fell in love slowly. Backwards as it was, falling in love after the marriage, worked for them. John became devoted to Jess. When Reese left the service they set up house. They were a real couple. It had been wonderful. When they found out the baby was going to be a boy, Jessica had insisted they name him after Jimmy. After all she had said, if not for Jimmy this baby would never have been conceived. Now, Jess and James were gone. John once again had to move on emotionally.

Reese shook off the memories and turned off the bedside lamp then pushed himself up from the bed. At the door he turned around to speak to Jess’ photo once more. “I know I’m setting myself up for a huge fall; how can I ever hope to replace the great Nathan Ingram in Harold’s heart? It’s just...it’s just I feel alive again, I have a purpose.”

Jessica’s help and companionship had gotten John through the loss of Jimmy. It was sheer good fortune that what had started out as a farce had turned into mutual love. Losing Jessica was getting easier with Harold by his side. John wasn't going to expect lightning to strike twice. Harold’s friendship would have to be enough.

***

Harold’s cell kept going to voicemail so John called the mansion’s landline which Simmons answered in his brusque no-nonsense manner. Reese felt like a school boy as he stammered out the reason for his tardiness.

Fortunately Reese was sitting in his truck still idling in the driveway as had pulled his cell phone away from his ear to stare at its face-plate; there had to be some kind of glitch. John could have sworn he heard Simmons say ‘excellent’ under his breath. Finch’s valet informed John, the man servant's formal voice returning, “Master Finch is running rather late also. He has invited you to meet him in his suite for brunch before you depart to bring back our new arrival.”

Reese drove the five minutes up the winding road to the mansion. John steered his truck up the drive as the gates swung open. Simmons was waiting just outside the mansion’s doors. Reese was made to follow Patrick inside and was shown to the enclosed patio where Bear’s makeshift recovery room had been set up. John had to hold back the smirk at the absurdness of the scene before him. A small patio table had been set for a meal among the pet effects, doggie bed, waterer, feeder and indoor kennel.

Simmons excused himself after requesting Master Reese take a seat at the table. Reese sat as requested and looked around. He was alone out there in the sunshine and fresh air surrounded by dog paraphernalia at a table set for royalty. John held one hand over his mouth to hide the smile that couldn’t be contained.

The smile left his face quickly when Finch came into view. The man was stunning, his eyes were beckoning to Reese like a cool sea after a walk in the desert. Harold was dressed to the nines in fabric so soft looking, John had to sit on his hands to stop himself from touching it.

Finch stopped just to the side of his chair and gave a nervous smile. John was busy straining to keep his eyes on Harold’s face, the urge to check out that ass was overwhelming. Then Harold’s cologne breezed by John’s nose and he wanted to moan. Damn, he wanted to bury his nose in that smell.

Harold sat unsteadily just as John stood up to get his chair. They made a clumsy mess of it until finally John just sat back down and mumbled, “You look wonderful.”

Harold’s pinched expression cleared and he smiled beatifically. John had to gulp down some of his ice water at that. He choked on an ice cube and sputtered. _Smooth Reese_.

Finch cleared his throat, “I thought that we should get used to doing as many activities in here as possible. That way Bear has company.”

John tried to unlock his thick tongue. “Good idea. Thank you for feeding me.”

Harold smiled again and looked up as Simmons brought out a pitcher of what looked like orange juice. “Ah! John, I am having hot tea and you have coffee at your left, but I thought a small flute of mimosas wouldn't go amiss. After all we won’t be driving for another four hours.”

Reese nodded to his host and Simmons filled his glass then Harold’s. John lifted his glass and said, “ To new purposes.”

John’s eyes widened; he hadn't meant to say that, but Harold wasn’t shocked. The other man clinked his glass with John’s and repeated the toast. Then they lifted the domes off their plates to dig in. Finch explained what they were eating while Reese just shoveled in the heavily smelling fare.

“A spinach, tomato, and Gruyere frittata. I wasn’t sure you liked goat cheese. Crisp bacon with toast points on the side. The bowl in the middle is mixed fruit with a touch of honey to accent their natural sweetness.”

Reese swallowed, “I can eat most anything. I’m not picky about what goes into my mouth.”

John’s face went pink and he dipped his head down. _What is wrong with me today?_

Harold didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he carefully applied marmalade to a toast point then handed the pot to John. “This is a special mix. We have a few fig trees out back and Simmons harvests them to add to his strawberry preserves. He mixes in chunks of fig as well as fig jelly. It really is delicious and requires very little added sugar. I have to watch my calorie intake nowadays. My sedentary lifestyle has widened my waist the last few years.”

John took the container and tried it on his toast. It was good and he said so. “But Harold, you shouldn't worry about your weight. You look marvelous to me.”

Again, John’s foot was making a friend of his mouth. Harold’s ears pinked up in a blush and he dropped his chin, a pleased smile on his lips. Well, if it makes Harold smile, John would gladly keep making an idiot of himself.

They managed to keep the conversation going about Bear and what to expect with his care. Simmons made himself scarce. He wasn’t popping in as much as before. However, John noticed him hiding behind a large fern, watching them with interest. Weird.

Maybe Simmons didn't completely trust John yet. John tried to remember his manners and to keep his elbows off the table. He only drank half of his mimosa. He didn’t want his mouth to get any looser or for Simmons to have a reason to throw him out.

At one point the conversation lagged and Simmons did a drive-by where he just topped off their coffee and tea to whisper into Harold’s ear about something. Harold thanked him and seemed to rally. He began to explain to John about the house and where John could set up if John needed his own space.

John didn't know what Simmons said but he was certain it wasn’t a suggestion to give John his own room. Jeez.

Eventually Simmons announced the time and both men stared at each other with open mouths. Where had the day gone? They excused themselves and gathered up what they might need for Bear.

There was a bit of a disagreement on whose vehicle to take, Harold emphatically refused to climb up in the cab of Reese’s behemoth again, but John caved easily. There was no time to mull over the fact that John would give Harold anything he asked. With Simmons help, he loaded up the pet taxi in the rear compartment of the Escalade. They were on the road shortly with Simmons waving at them like a maiden aunt awaiting a nephew’s arrival.

***

The lobby of the veterinarian’s clinic was unusually busy for the time of day, Dr. Shaw’s hours to see new patients normally were scheduled before lunch. The two men who checked in at the receptionist’s desk were mindless however of the elbows to a companion's side or hushed whispers as the other occupants in the lobby took note of the two men dressed more for a night on the town than a trip to an animal hospital. Yes, the two men stuck out like a sore thumb in their fine attire among others dressed in denim shorts, spaghetti strap tees, flip flops or sandals.

Only the lift of an eyebrow was any indication the receptionist noticed the men’s apparel before she paged Dr. Shaw to let her know that Bear’s owners had arrived to take him home. Dr. Shaw herself came out only seconds later to escort the men behind the closed door leading to the exam rooms, etc.

Someone in the lobby popped off sarcastically to their companion seated in the next chair, “If I had known fancy clothes got you quicker service, I’d have worn an evening gown!” There was some tittering in the room, but the men were soon forgotten, concerns for their own pets returning to the forefront of their minds.

Sameen Shaw, never one to tender her words, pulled the men into her office and blurted out point blank, “You two going out on a date? That dog in there is going to need some special handling in the next few days and is going to need your full attention. Maybe it would be best to keep him here instead if you two feel the need to take care of your own libidos.”

Both men reddened in the face, Finch’s turning a bright crimson, but Reese still managed to shoot back, “Can it Shaw! We just had lunch together. You don’t dress in hole riddled blue jeans and tee shirts with faded logos to dine in a billionaire’s mansion. But, if those things are your requirements for assuming the care of an injured canine, we would have taken the time to dress accordingly.”

Shaw just rolled her eyes, “Look you two can dress up in pink tutus for all I care as long as you take care of that dog.” Shaw opened her office door and showed them out, “It’s time for Bear to go home!”

Bear was alert lying upright in the cage, but still bristled when any of the staff came too close. That is until he sensed Harold was near. The Malinois started whining and thumping his tail against the floor of the enclosure, eager for Finch’s attention. Shaw had told Reese the dog could walk or hobble rather for a short distance, so John opened the cage door and lifted the dog out to let him stand on the floor. Bear didn’t move just leaned into Reese’s legs as John slipped on Bear’s new collar and clipped the leash to it. John handed the other end to Harold, “Walk him to your SUV, I’ll be right behind you.”

Shaw stood with her hands on her hips, shaking her head as Reese and she watched the two limp slowly to the side exit and out.

Harold had already opened the back of the SUV and Bear was sitting at Finch’s feet, sniffing the air, when John and Dr. Shaw joined them in the parking lot. Bear didn’t struggle when John lifted the dog into the pet taxi. When the Malinois was settled and the rear of the Escalade closed up again Harold shook Shaw’s hand before climbing behind the wheel. Sameen wished John good luck when he too shook her hand. Reese climbed into the passenger side, and gave Finch the nod, “Let’s take our dog home Harold.”

Sameen Shaw watched the SUV pull away, a smile turning up her usually compressed mouth that made Shaw almost look human, “Have a nice life, Bear, you deserve it.” Dr. Shaw turned to renter her clinic.

***

Harold invited John to stay for dinner once more after Bear had settled into his new surroundings. The Malinois had hobbled around slowly on three feet over the grounds on the west side of the mansion sniffing at every flower, shrub, and tree, marking them occasionally before returning to the patio to flop on his new bed. Bears closed his eyes with a doggie sigh of contentment.

Simmons served them a simple fare of cold meats, various cheeses, and fruit. Patrick appeared as if on cue to refill wine glasses, but otherwise the two men were left alone.

Harold had a hard time focusing on John’s words. There was a five o'clock shadow darkening the man’s jaw now, but Harold’s fingers still itched to stroke the man’s face. Finch had nearly stumbled when he walked out onto the patio that morning. It was cliche, but seeing John dressed in Finch’s favorite colors, blue eyes shining out of the smooth, whisker free face had taken Harold’s breath away.

It didn’t help Finch to concentrate on Reese’s words now, when John’s compliments from that morning kept replaying in his mind. Harold felt his face flush recalling his body’s reaction to Reese’s comment about not caring what went in his mouth. It was faux pas on John’s part and Harold had pretended not to notice.

It was almost a relief when Simmons asked Reese inside. Harold needed some time and space to regroup. He was a grown man not some teenager on her very first date with her first crush. Finch took one of the pillows off of the wicker patio chair and eased himself down next to Bear. Finch knew Bear didn't understand a word he was saying but nevertheless crooned his confessions about how he was feeling about John Reese and the futility of it all while stroking Bear all over with gentle hands.

Little did Finch know Reese had returned and was watching from the doorway. He didn't know that John couldn’t understand the words said, could only feel Harold’s affection for Bear, and how jealous that made Reese in that moment of the canine. Harold didn’t know how much John was wishing those gentle hands were on him and Harold’s sweet voice was crooning in John’s ear.

~~ * ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next: It's a surprse


	8. Do You Believe In Miracles?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one's kind of angsty  
> but I just wanted this to show John is not the only one who 's  
> life was changed (and Bear's of course)

 

Reese flipped on the light and threw off the covers. It’s barely five am, but he gives up trying to fall asleep again. With a sigh of resignation, John dangled his legs over the edge of the bed to stand, used both hands to finger through his crop of hair, then, padded barefoot into the bath to relieve his bladder and turn on the shower.

 _I should be used to this._ John hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in nine months. _No, that’s not true; you slept like the dead night before last, Reese_. John waited for the shower to heat up, for hot water to flow up through the aged pipes from the not quite as old hot water heater in the basement. Replacing the ancient plumbing was one of those things on his and Jess’ **to-do** list to repair the fixer upper after they had bought it over a decade ago; what with this repair or that never seemed to make it to the **done** list.

The feeling of being gut punched that accompanied every memory of―they ‘never got the chance to …’ ―was replaced with a gentler feeling of peace, recalling the this or that about why they ‘never got a chance to’—the leaky roof that had them running around like insane people shoving pots, pans, bowls, or empty cans under the thousand leaks dripping from the ceiling the first time there was a torrential down pour; the scrimping and making every cent of Jess’s nurse’s salary count, only doing absolutely necessary repairs because any profit _J &J_ made went back into the business; then when things were great financially, readying the house and the back yard for their child—the plumbing just never seemed to matter. It worked and neither one of them had ever felt rushed waiting for hot water.

No it wasn’t lying awake with everything they had planned and never had a chance to do haunting Reese’s thoughts or the nightmares that would cause John to wake and call out that had made him restless all night. Reese didn’t even feel a stab of guilt that for the first time in months after losing Jess and the baby there had been no nightmares. He seemed to have reached the peak of his grief.

Like a roller-coaster, you climb slowly; click by click to what you feel is a cliff that might kill you. When you reach the top though; the view is beautiful, you see the world from a whole new angle. The anxiety about what is to come is still there, all that has happened is still clear in your mind, but you can see that your journey isn’t at an end. Sure, there might be some bumps, dips and valleys. However, the thrill ahead is going to be worth it.

So, he needed to stop feeling guilty that instead of nightmares, tonight he dreamed of Harold. Harold, with his precious and small hands, mapping John’s body. Harold’s clear voice, full of affection crooning nonsense into John’s ear so he could relax and sleep. Dreaming of Harold, of how John was falling in love with everything about the man. That Harold made John feel less alone, less isolated. John knew he had a partner on this ride now.

With that in mind, John threw his hands up in defeat and went to shower hastily. He was determined to allow himself to enjoy this. He dressed quickly and made for the garage. Yeah, it might be a little early to head for the mansion, but John wasn’t going to sleep and he knew where he wanted to be right now. Bear could use some company anyway.

Reese slowed the truck as he turned into the mansion’s drive. John didn’t want to use the code to open the gate, who knew what kind of alarm that could set off? No one was expected to be there that time of the morning. So, figuring he’d have to use the call button, Reese was surprised when the gate swung open. The mansion was dark except the security lights and a few windows lit up on the east side. _Simmons?_ _Did the man never sleep, or is it that he just doesn’t trust me?_ John watched a figure step out of the double doors as the 4x4 neared the terraced steps. _Speak of the devil?_ Simmons was once again waiting outside the doors as Reese slowed the truck to a stop.

Reese stepped down from the truck, an apology waiting at the tip of John’s tongue, but before he could open his mouth, Simmons silenced him with a forefinger pressed to his own rigid lips. Whatever Reese was about to say sputtered out, “Simmons?”

The valet bowed his head in a quick acknowledgement, “Master Harold is still in his suite. If you would care to follow me?” The night before, Simmons had shown Reese the first floor of the mansion to various areas John was granted access to if something was required for Bear’s care and an empty work space next to the kitchen. Only this time Simmons led John up the flight of stairs to a suite of rooms on the second floor.

Reese’s house wasn’t small by any means, but the suite he was shown could have easily fit the ranch home’s ground level inside it with room to spare. The main space ran thirty feet long and fifteen feet wide. It was sectioned off into three different functions. The first third held a desk and computer. The middle had a bench, wooden valet for clothes and a dresser against each wall. The far end had a sofa and a media center including a TV and stereo across from the sleeping area. The bed was a double with a floating wall that separated it from the rest of the room, but would allow someone to watch the television from the bed by swiveling the set on its lazy-Susan. To the right was a balcony that snaked around the corner with large potted fruit trees and patio furniture. The balcony was over five feet deep. To the left, a walk-in closet with built-in storage spaces. The en-suite bathroom held a shower stall, two sinks in a four foot vanity and a sunken Jacuzzi tub that could fit five adults. Windows were floor to ceiling affairs with simple drapery. The closet actually had a door at the end. John poked his head in to find a small library and reading area.

Yesterday morning after Finch and Simmons had their chat, John had the crazy idea that they had been discussing giving him his own room and then dismissed it just as quickly as a ridiculously impossible flight of fancy, only was it so impossible? John had been given the fifty cent tour last night, why now was he being shown this posh suite? Simmons opened a set of French doors that lead out onto the balcony from the bedroom and waved John through. The view of the estate beyond the hedges that offered Finch’s section privacy made John literally catch his breath. The grounds stretched for acres beyond the main house; the view was something John, even as well off as he was now, had only seen in movies. It was spectacular.

Simmons cleared his throat, “Master Finch was worried that your need to be here at the mansion several times a day while assisting in the care of his new canine companion during the animal’s recovery from its injuries, driving into the city and back to tend to your company, and then home might become rather an inconvenience. He wants to avail you the use of this suite of rooms whenever you wish.” Reese was about to decline, the offer was very generous only… John really had no reason to refuse especially when he walked around the corner of the balcony and saw the steps leading down to the same expanse of green that was Bear’s temporary run. The stairs also led to the patio they had dined at, the patio outside Finch’s study. Reese accepted with a gracious, “Thank you. Harold is very thoughtful and kind.”

Simmons cleared his throat again, “Master Finch is still asleep and Bear had a rough night. I plan to check on the back lot. I do a sweep of the grounds once a month, the fences and security system. You run a company for just that purpose?” John nodded numbly so Simmons continued “Would you mind going with me to see if I have missed anything?”

After seeing all the things Harold was willing to do for John and Bear, of course he would like to help out! They descended the stairs and peeked into the doggie den; Bear was snoring and kicking his legs in some dream. They walked through the wrought iron gate that led to the garages that could house six vehicles and to an outbuilding. Simmons drew back the doors. Inside were gardening utensils, a riding mower, and a golf cart. They got in the cart and took off. John just shook his head. Of course, they would need a golf cart to survey this massive estate.

Simmons steered the cart along a pathway of decorative gravel past a set of tennis courts, their asphalt surfaces freshly coated, the lines repainted but the nets were noticeably absent. Parallel to the tennis courts was a grass area cut low for lawn games. Further on was an unused stable that Reese thought was large enough to stall twenty horses and a large paddock. Once past those, they followed the graveled path past fenced pastures and through natural habitat until they reached the end of the property and a tree lined lake.

Simmons stopped the cart where the path made a turn that had it following the lakes edge before curving once again in the direction of the mansion and along more fenced pasture.

The Simmons that spoke now was not the stoic and dour man servant, as he sighed sadly, “It’s beautiful is it not, the lake, the grounds?” Patrick didn’t wait for Reese to say anything just continued on. “I’m sorry if I seemed to be suspicious of your intentions. I know you are an honorable man. It’s just that Harold has been through so much, I just had to be sure.”

Simmons looked at John then. “I might be overstepping my bounds, but I really feel you should know the truth. Nathan was Harold’s whole world for thirty years; he was content to stay in Nathan's shadow. When IFP made them millionaires they bought this place and made it theirs. Harold rarely left the mansion or its grounds though. I never knew why. But inside their castle walls Harold lived. He loved horses and riding. Tennis was Nathan’s forte, yet Harold could hold his own there too. Not a weekend was spent that they weren’t doing something here together. Now Nathan is gone and Harold is…”

“He needed round the clock care, then the rehab. Harold pushed himself just to be able to walk no matter how much it caused him pain, only Harold would never cry, not because of the pain or from his grief. That he held deep inside. I tried to get him to talk to me; there wasn’t anyone else. Leon he wouldn’t even see. Harold would just get angry so I left it alone.”

Simmons swiped at the tears threatening to fall as Reese listened his heart nearly breaking, “I shouldn’t have. Harold let the staff go, sold off everything, and walled himself off. I found him one night, sitting on the floor. He’d fallen and managed to crawl to his desk. I never knew he had a gun in one of the drawers and Harold had it in his lap. I don’t think he even realized I had taken it from him. Harold just looked up at me, ‘I couldn’t do it Patrick.’ I held him as he cried.”

Simmons breathed in, swallowed hard, and exhaled, “Thank God after that night he talked to me, to Leon. Harold’s better now but he still closes himself off. At least until he met you.”

“Do you believe in miracles Mr. Reese? I never have until these past three days. Harold hadn’t gone into the city in years and never without Nathan. Harold did three nights ago. Then he finds a lost, injured animal and you, Mr. Reese. Harold has a light in eyes I thought would never shine again. You are his miracle Mr. Reese. Thank you.”

Reese shook Patrick Simmons hand, and swore, “I’ll never hurt him.”

~~ * ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start to heat up


	9. What Dreams May Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What dreams may come  
> A bonding over Bear's first training day  
> and his first bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It shouldn't be hard to bathe  
> a weak, half starved, Malinois  
> with a broken leg, right?  
> Yeah, Rrrrriiiight.

=/

Harold woke slowly, deliciously. He had been walking along the lake’s edge; Bear was swimming out to retrieve a stick floating on the sun dappled water. John was cheering the dog on and laughing enthusiastically. Bear was swimming back to the shore before running to them, carrying his prize and dropping it at Harold’s feet. The canine then showered both men with lake water with a hearty shake of his happy and hardy seventy-five pound frame.

John had stepped in front of Harold trying to take the brunt of the spray, pulling Harold towards him at the waist, “We did it sweetheart, we did it!” What had started out as a joy filled peck on the lips turned into something more when John had kissed him again, only deeper.

It was so tempting to go back to sleep. Finch luxuriously stretched out his body’s morning stiffness, almost rejoicing that moving again today wasn’t accompanied by the usual jolts of pain radiating from his neck downward. Harold looked over, the draperies had not been pulled back, yet he could tell it was daylight even through the heavy woolen cloth.

Harold didn’t spring from the bed exactly, but compared to the last few months he practically flew as if on wings and glided to the window.

Looking out, Finch could see Bear sniffing at the bushes again, hobbling from first one to the other, before finding the exact one and relieving himself on it. Harold chuckled to himself when the dog then deposited a gift for John to clean up.

Finch checked the time; John wouldn’t be here for another hour while Simmons was more than likely still asleep. His friend had volunteered to stay up when Bear had become fidgety. The medications from the clinic were wearing off and the weaker ones they had to give the dog had yet to totally take effect. When Harold had padded out in slippers and night clothes around two am to check **—** after having only slept a few hours himself, mostly spending the time reading after withdrawing to his room **—** Bear was sound asleep and Simmons was just retiring to his own quarters.

Finch decided to go out and see to what he could of the canine’s needs, then shower and change. By that time Simmons would be up and Harold could ask if Patrick would set a breakfast for him and John Reese.

Bear was already back inside his doggie den when Harold went out on the patio. Yet, he was at Finch’s feet within seconds after Harold had sat down in the patio chair, his head cocked to the side and tongue lolling out, absorbing the TLC Harold was giving him like a sponge.

Man and dog were in their own little world, when Simmons and Reese returned from their talk re-entering through the iron gate. Simmons planned on waking Master Harold, John intentions were to see to Bear’s feeding, watering, and take care of what he had joked to Finch earlier as poo patrol.

Finch looked up from stroking Bear’s ears when the dog yipped at the two men entering the gate. John was pleased to notice that Bear didn’t move away from Harold and try to run towards the two men. Even with two familiar figures approaching, the canine stayed close to Harold.  

Harold stood as the two men neared. A mixture of surprise, embarrassment, and delight painted a pink blush over his cheeks and that lopsided grin on his face. Both Simmons and Reese took turns explaining to Harold that John had arrived early and had offered to accompany Simmons on his monthly survey of the estate’s outer boundaries.

Simmons—Patrick once again the civil and courteous man-servant—then excused himself, but not before informing Harold, “Master Reese has agreed to make use of the suite above. If you will excuse me, I will tend to my duties. Would you prefer breakfast be served out here once again, Sir?”

Finch seemed to collect himself long enough to appear pleased that John would be staying at the mansion occasionally and yes, he would like to partake of the morning meal out in the fresh air. The pink returned to Harold’s cheeks when he turned to John as Simmons left to enter a side door into the mansion. “I usually don’t greet my house guests in my night clothes,” Harold apologized as if he had been sitting there in his birthday suit, “If you want to tend to our friend here for a few minutes, I will make myself decent.”

Reese blinked, “No need to apologize Harold, I was the one who arrived early.” Finch gave a nod, another one of those half-smiles that made John’s heart skip a beat, and then bustled back into his study

Reese thought about how much he had come to realize it was meeting Finch and how much having Harold by his side had made his future seem so much brighter. Now after everything Simmons had revealed, John could see that his and Harold’s relationship was not a one way street. Harold needed John as much if not more.

John Reese reaffirmed the vow he made to Simmons earlier, an oath to himself on all that is right and good in the world.... _I swear, I’ll never hurt him._

***

Reese rolled the garden hose-caddie back into the storage shed. John mentally scratched training Bear to use an area of the mansion’s landscaping the least susceptible to damage from the dog’s eliminations off the list as the dog had chosen that spot already.

The six foot tall hedges that closed off and offered privacy to the west side of the mansion and Harold’s floor of rooms also served as a living fence. Paralleling each side of the hedge was a three foot wide strip of decorative gravel covering the bed from which randomly spaced and numerous varieties of green spires grew.

Bear had chosen the southwest corner of the living fence to ‘take care of business’ every time since being brought home. John wasn’t a plant expert by any means, but he knew that the spires were one of the most ‘pee’ resistant shrubberies. Jess had been the one with the green thumb and had landscaped a section of their backyard using the plants for when James would be wanting a puppy.

Cleaning up after Bear and saving the landscaping from damage was simply a matter of watering the plants and hosing off the gravel. John pulled the shed’s doors closed, picked up the small waste bag and walked the hundred yards or so past the east side of the mansion.

The street leading to the estate essentially ended in a wide circular turn around just past the driveway to the main gate, but a paved lane not much wider than an alleyway continued on by circling around to a discreet entrance. The gates there also had keypads to enter codes allowing entrance into the property's east side for deliveries, maintenance services such as the groundskeepers, and of course waste removal.

Reese was on his return jaunt just past halfway heading towards the iron gate when the aroma of fresh coffee assailed his nostrils. John’s stomach did a weird lurch as if to protest the half cup of twice rewarmed coffee he had hastily downed earlier that morning before leaving the ranch house.

The gate clicked shut behind Reese as he made his entrance again that morning. Bear woofed his greeting, but remained seated at Finch’s side. Harold stopped stirring his beverage and looked up before smiling his own welcome.

They might be some clichéd overused lines in old Harlequin romance novels, nevertheless, that smile took John’s breath away, was like the clouds parting and the sun coming out, warmed the frozen lump in his chest that was his heart, or made it skip a beat. No matter how trite it may sound, John’s heart soared higher and higher every moment that smile was bestowed upon him.

Finch, ever the one for civilities, stood until John took the chair across him. After they were both seated Harold nodded at the silver carafe, “A special brew Simmons prepared this morning for you John, ‘leaded’ I believe you said. Nathan liked this blend, ‘Strong enough to stand a spoon up in.’ he would always complain.” Harold's eyes went distant for a moment before he chuckled and added, “Not too long after Simmons came to live with us and served it the first time, Nathan gulped down almost a whole cupful at once, scowled, and complained—quite loudly, ‘This stuff would take the finish off a car bumper!’ Then Nathan drained the cup, slammed it down on the table, and demanded a nearly traumatized Patrick to keep it coming.”

Reese poured himself a cup and took a sip. “Whoa! That will put some lead in your pencil,” John spluttered. “Exactly the way I like my java.”

John was on his second cup of 'Joe' and Harold his third cup of his sencha green tea when Simmons rolled out a cart with three silver serving platters. The first he set between the two men and lifted the cover. Toast points in stacks of three encircled a crystal bowl filled with apple mint jelly.

Simmons set a plate in front of each man before removing those covers as well. John’s tongue salivated as he smelled the heavenly aroma coming from the most delicious looking omelet he had ever seen. The eggs were fluffy and a dark yellow; the filling had ham and asparagus with white goat cheese that was sharp and perfectly melted. The whole thing was garnished with crushed mint. Reese took a bite and chewed slowly. John ate slower this time around savoring each mouthful, trying not to roll his eyes with guilty pleasure as the flavors assaulted his taste buds. Harold's grin would get wider every time John let out a little moan.

As they filled their stomachs with the rich fair, John went over three basic commands he wanted Harold to know. When the breakfast remnants were cleared from the table, Reese asked if Harold was ready for a bit of exercise, then joked, "I know I am. You keep feeding me like this, I may have to hit the gym on my way to work. Turn this mush into muscle." Harold rolled his eyes when Reese pretended to 'pinch an inch' on his waistline. Simmons just watched from his spot behind the fern.

***

Reese clasped the leash to the brand new collar; the tags, one with Bear’s name etched on it with his new owner’s information, the other with his vaccination info jingled when the dog scratched at the studded leather around his neck. Bear’s ears flitted back and forth hearing the sound. John wondered how long Bear had been wearing the frayed bargain store collar Shaw had had to cut from around the dog’s neck. The people Bear had escaped from had scarred the dog badly to hide his identification, how long had they had him so that having the new collar and tags around his neck were foreign to him now? Dogs like Bear wear collars almost from the day they are whelped.

When Bear seemed to accept the collar and take more interest in what else was going on around him, John waved for Harold to come over. He put the leash in Finch’s hand and told Harold to just hold it loosely.

“I want you to walk with Bear on your right side around the yard. Don’t use the leash at all. I want you to tell him what to do. Remember the commands I taught you. He’s not going to be able to move that fast. Just take your time. Remember  _Volg_ when you want him to go left, _Rechts_ for right, _Zit_ to sit.” Harold seemed unsure but nodded that he understood.

John walked at Harold’s left a few turns around the yard changing direction when they would finish a circuit. The three took their time, with John telling Harold it was okay for him to command Bear to sit when the dog seemed to tire.

Reese patted Harold on the shoulder, pointed out that he was going to go sit at the table, and left the two to continue the exercise on their own. John wanted the two to learn to depend on the other. It was working out perfectly; they actually had to lean on one another, as Harold tired just as easily walking around and around the enclosure. Their disabilities seemed to complement each other. As if Bear and Harold saw a kindred, broken spirit in the other.

John stopped them after a while and went to reward Bear with a treat and some affection. When John ruffled the dog's fur in his hands, they came away dingy and smelling of ripe mammal. He looked up at Harold. “I think the next order of business is to clean off the grime of his former life.”

Harold nodded in agreement.

***

John remembered seeing an old metal washtub hanging at the back of the storage shed. Simmons, who had popped in to watch the proceedings was now helping John fill the tub with warm water from the huge double sink in the mansion’s kitchen. Bear had flopped onto his dogie bed outside when John went to grab the metal tub and Finch went to go change clothes.

When the water was ready, Simmons apologized for not being able to assist further, but today was the day he met with the grocer to order the produce for the week and the butcher for meats. John was looking past Patrick at the huge double sided freezer/refrigerator and a room bigger than his house’s kitchen stocked full of canned foods and dry goods. Reese was pretty sure the grocer and butcher could wait, but appreciated Simmons' efforts for what they really were. Simmons was giving Harold and him some alone time.

John couldn’t help but bust out in stitches when Harold entered the kitchen dressed in ‘old clothes’. Harold was dressed in faded khakis that might have been five years old but had lost their crease in the seams. His shirt was a button up for a suit that had one tiny oil stain on the cuff. Harold wore loafers with tassels that looked fine to John. When asked, Harold had replied that these were shoes he wore before he acquired his Italian cobbler.

Harold looked put upon and said, “I usually donate all my out of fashion clothing to a charity that helps clothe homeless people for job interviews. So, yes this isn’t what you would consider to be ragged clothing, but I rarely have a chance to wear out clothes because when they are no longer in season I give them away. People are more accepting of hand me downs then new clothes. If I just dropped off new suits they would be insulted. Besides, I am not some adventurer who gets clothes dirty. At least not anymore. Used to be, Will would have my best shirts covered in finger paint or macaroni and cheese hand prints. These days I never do more than reach for a book on a high shelf. Today is the first time I have broken into a sweat that wasn’t related to physical therapy in years.

John sobered, “I wasn't making fun of you. It’s just that’s how interesting you are, that for you casual clothes are comfortable. Most people I know consider what you’re wearing to be Church clothes that are more like a monkey suit than anything worthy destroying. You’re just different from my everyday. I like it that you prefer to be formal. It means you always make an effort for everything even washing a dog. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings.”

Harold shook his head, “No, I’m not offended. Yes, I find solace in the formal. It makes it easier to interact. If I am following manners and protocols then I know I am not making mistakes or miscommunicating. I accidentally hurt people less when I adhere to formal rules.”

Apology accepted, Reese told Harold to wait in the kitchen while he went to fetch their dog. John crossed his fingers that Bear wouldn’t mind bath time. Dogs that were well trained and well cared for sometimes hated baths. It was hard to tell how a dog that had been ill-used and mistreated for god knew how long would react.

All seemed to going well as Bear obediently followed John’s commands when Reese walked him through the side door into the kitchen. The dog even held still as John wrapped the cast in plastic and taped it closed. Bear never squirmed even a little when John picked him up. Then the dog’s feet hit the water.  

It took both men to calm Bear down, John keeping his tone soothing and low while giving the commands as Harold just held on to the dog for dear life and tried to ease Bear’s fears with his voice. It took some doing. Bear stood still although trembling and tense. Both men’s shirts were soaked and soapy water was dripping from their hair and faces. John kept Bear still while Harold wet, shampooed, and rinsed.

The task finally over Reese lifted Bear from the tub and carried the dog outside. John took the tape off the plastic wrapped around the cast and pulled away the temporary protective covering. Bear hobbled a few feet away and turned to give Reese an angry doggie glare. It wasn’t really a laughing matter but John couldn't help convulse with it when Bear showered him as the dog shook himself vigorously and roared even louder when the dog rolled around on the grass, got up, hobbled a few steps, then dropped and rolled again.

Reese wiped the tears from laughing so hard from his eyes and when his fits of laughter slowed to an insane giggle he snorted, “Harold, you watching this crazy animal?” John looked around and it dawned on him, Harold was still down on his knees watching John when he carried Bear out. _Shit!_

John raced back into the kitchen to find Harold still crouched on the floor, clutching his back and grimacing in pain. John dropped to one knee, apologizing profusely, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. Let me help you up.”

Harold let Reese grab under his elbow and pull him up while he held tight to John’s forearms as they both stood. Finch breathed hard with his eyes clenched tightly shut until the spasms eased. When Harold opened them to see John’s guilt ridden face, he sobbed out, “Not... your... fault.”

When Harold was able to breathe almost normally again, he panted out “It’s nobody's fault, John... I wasn’t thinking when I tried to stand... I turned my neck too far... It happens.... Less and less now... but it still happens.”

Still feeling guilty John tried to make some kind of amends, “Here! At least let me help get you out of these wet clothes.”

Harold nearly shouted “No!” Reese immediately pulled his hands back like Harold had slapped him.

Finch lowered his voice, “No, I can go change; my bedroom is only across the hall.

Reese thought he had already put his foot in his mouth enough since meeting Harold Finch, that one more time wasn’t going to matter, so he blurted out, “It’s the scars. You don’t want me to see your scars?” John tugged his shirt off and unfastened his jeans pulling them low almost past his hips. “I have scars too.”

John reached out and grabbed Harold’s hand pressing the fingers over his own left side. Reese moved the fingers from shrapnel scar to shrapnel scar and over every place where the army surgeons had sewed him back together. “Yours are not going to frighten me away.”

John let Harold retrace the map of healed wounds from hip to hip across his lower abdomen and up John’s once mangled left side.

John tentatively reached out again, asking with his eyes before beginning to undo the tiny buttons of Finch’s shirt. Harold swallowed hard, took a shaky breath and gave a tiny nod.

John helped Harold out of the button down; he was still in his tee shirt but John could see the scars on Harold's right forearm, his right clavicle and up the side of his neck. John touched Harold’s jaw, rubbing a thumb over the smooth skin before following Harold's jawline back and traced the scarring there. John then whispered, “See I’m still here.”

John tugged the undershirt from the waistband of Harold’s khakis then slid a hand under the tee and over the skin of Harold’s lower back. There he could feel even more scarring but still pulled Harold close. “Still here.” John whispered again and bent his head lower.

The sound of the door opening had both men jumping back, hands dropping to their sides. Simmons apparently had finished his grocery shopping. Harold bolted out of the kitchen through to door leading to the patio. John grabbed his shirt, pushed open the swinging door leading to the dining room, trotted across it into the hallway and practically ran out the front door.

Simmons looked at the washtub, went to the utility closet and took out a bucket and mop. The bucket he used to bail water out of the tub and the mop to soak up the lake of bath water spilled on the floor. All the while he was muttering and talking to himself, “As always Patrick Simmons, perfect timing.”

~~ * ~~


	10. Wrong Assumptions and Friendly Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers bring boots with you.  
> You might want to kick some sense into these two!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this thing turned out so huge.
> 
> Once again thanks to menagerie for the beta and her help.

 

Reese didn’t bother taking the truck around to the garage. He just pulled it in front of the house, shoved the lever into park, killed the engine, and was out of the cab, up the steps, had unlocked the door before swinging it open to disappear inside the house before he actually stopped running away from the mansion and the almost kiss. John tossed the keys on the table and flopped into the nearest chair in his living room. _What in the hell just happened?_

John had wanted to kiss Harold, had ever since his self-revelation that he had fallen head over heels for the passionate little man, probably from the moment Finch had banged on his front door that first night. So why in the hell did he run away just now like he had been caught trying to kiss the farmer’s daughter?

It wasn’t like Simmons was going to chase him down with a shotgun. The man had thanked Reese not five hours earlier for John having come into Harold Finch’s life. It wasn’t that Finch hadn’t wanted John to kiss him; Harold hadn’t refused, at least not for that.

Reese hadn’t put his shirt back on after he had run away; it was still on the seat of the truck. John could swear he still felt Harold's fingertips ghosting over his skin which made John look down at his bare chest. No, Harold hadn’t resisted. Harold had been nervous, but the way his touch was almost worshiping John, he had wanted that kiss to happen just as much.

So, why had the both of them cut and run? John dropped his face in his hands. _Did I just fool myself into believing Harold wanted it because I did?_ John thought about what Simmons had told him. Harold did need him, but was it just as a friend and no more?

If that’s all Finch ever needed from him was to be a friend, Reese would be there for Harold, no regrets. John lifted his head from his hands and shook it. _No!_ They had both wanted each other at that moment. John wasn’t going to give up on even the slightest chance that it was more than just a friendship they both wanted. If Harold didn’t want anything beyond that he would only need to tell John so and he would respect that, but unless he did, John wasn’t going to give up even the slimmest of hope that Harold could return his love.

Only why **had** Reese run away like a scalded cat in the opposite direction as Finch? John had only fled through the dining room and out when Finch had looked at him guilt ridden and embarrassed before limping as fast as he could out the side door.

John groaned out loud, “Harold believes I’m straight!”

Harold had wanted Reese to kiss him. Certainly, Finch didn’t believe he had seduced a straight man? Was that why he had looked so horrified? Surely, Harold didn’t think that he himself had been so lonely, so needy of male companionship that he had enticed the first man that took an interest in him.   

Reese couldn't deny he had been filled with doubt about believing he was good enough to replace Nathan Ingram or that he had been anxious over trying to start a new relationship after being with Jess half his life, but if anyone had been guilty of trying to seduce the other, it was him. Sweet, innocent Harold had been the one to be tempted.

Except Harold Finch would never put the blame for anything like what just happened to him on anyone but himself. Finch was wrong to believe that John had been some naive fool Harold was taking advantage of. Reese should have followed Harold right out that door, let him know John was neither naive or foolish and did want what they had been about to do. Only he hadn’t, had he? Reese had run like he had just escaped being forced into a shotgun wedding.

Reese pulled himself up out of the chair, went into the kitchen and pulled the whiskey bottle back down off its spot in the cabinet. He poured just a finger’s worth, enough to calm his nerves, to think. _Damn it!_ John poured out the whiskey and slammed the glass on the counter.

Alcohol was not going to help him fix this. John would give Harold some time and space today. Tomorrow he would tell Harold about Jimmy, how they had fallen madly, deeply in love with each other from the moment they had met in the service and that in a firefight, in an instant Jimmy was gone. An army hospital was where he had met Jessica and they had become involved then married to save his army career. He had grown to love Jess over time and had made a life with her. Reese would then tell Finch that he had fallen just as hard and fast for Harold as he had for Jimmy, that he had been a fool for running away and letting Harold believe that he had been the one to do something wrong. Then John would beg for Harold's forgiveness on his knees if he had to.

Reese looked at his watch. He had planned to start taking an active interest in _J &J_ once more, not let the company he and Jess built run without his hands on the reins anymore, but not until Bear was well on the mend. Fusco would still be at _J &J_ corporate this time of day and Reese felt the need to talk to his closest friend. John showered and dressed for the office. When Reese climbed back into his truck, he saw the soaked shirt he had stripped off earlier. As if it was somehow the shirt’s fault that he had made a mess of everything, John balled it up and threw it on the floorboard, not sure if he would ever wear it again.

***

It had been less than a week since Reese had tried to go back to work, had his world come crashing down around him once more, when he had tried to drown himself in a bottle, and lost a day mourning his loss all over again. Funny how life can be sometimes. When you think it’s over, it comes banging at your door, gets in your face, and makes you want to grab onto it with both hands. Then regardless, you do something stupid and run away like a fool.

John found the door to Fusco’s office open and rapped on the frame softly. Lionel looked up to see Reese and started to say, “Hey look, John, you didn’t have to come back…” The curly headed chief of security hadn’t been an almost detective because he was slow on the uptake. Fusco was observant as hell and knew by the look on Reese’s face something was troubling his boss and friend.

Fusco closed the door, waited until John sat in the chair across from his desk before sitting on its edge, “Okay pal, spill it!”

Reese was going to blow Lionel off before he mentally kicked himself.  _You came to talk to Lionel, now do it!_  John took a deep breath, “I’ve met someone and I think I screwed it up already, big time.”

John raised an eyebrow when Lionel came back with, “Yeah some rich guy from top of the hill. I heard that. So, how did you manage to screw it up already? Word going round he was pretty into you.” Fusco laughed at Reese’s stunned face. “You remember Dr. Shaw—her receptionist, Linda, and Janice are practically sisters? Janice couldn’t wait to tell me the news that you and this hot looking guy came into the clinic dressed to the nines to pick up **your** dog. Seems Linda kept going on and on about how you two couldn’t keep your eyes off one another. Janice damned neared called me a liar when I told her I had no idea who you were seeing.”

John shook his head in disbelief, “You mean you two weren’t shocked to find out the 'someone' I am seeing is a man, it's only bothering Janice that she doesn't know who the man is?”

Fusco’s jovial expression turned serious. “Look the four of us—Jess, you, Janice, me—we were practically family. You really think we didn’t know?” Lionel stood up and put his hand on John’s shoulder. “We knew and it doesn’t matter; it never has. Now big guy, you want to tell me how you screwed things up already?”

John told Lionel what had almost happened, how he had turned tail and ran when they had been interrupted.

Lionel sat down behind his desk and rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “Sounds like you both just panicked, things moved a little bit faster than you both were ready for. It happens. Just don’t confuse moving a little too quickly with it was a mistake moving at all. “

John nodded, “Right, right. If it didn't matter so much we wouldn’t be scared. I get it. A misstep isn’t the same as a fall.”

Lionel smiled good-naturedly. “Right. This is important and you got spooked. Basically each of you thought the other was offended and because you care so much you ran.”

John stood up and hugged his friend with a whispered, “Thanks.”

He went to his office and opened the door. The sight of the gifts, still on the desk didn’t knife through his gut with quite the same intense pain. John gathered as many as he could and went to load them in his truck. Other people had a greater need for these things now. Once John had all the baby stuff together, he drove to the Goodwill drop off and pitched them all in unopened. Someone’s baby could use these things. John felt a little lighter. As if some of the weight he had been carrying was now off and he could breathe freely again.

~*~

Finch threw open the French doors leading into his study so hard it made the wood paneling shake. It was a wonder the glass panes didn’t shatter into a thousand shards, but Harold didn’t care. He stumbled around the corner of his desk, oblivious to the crunch of hip bone against mahogany, before he sunk into the butter soft calfskin leather of his desk chair.

The draperies had been pulled back allowing Harold to scowl at the study window’s view of the sweeping front lawn, along with the curving drive leading down to the wrought iron gate and the public street beyond. Reese’s Chevy flew over the pavement; the gates barely had the chance to open fully as the behemoth four-wheel drive barreled through them. John steered the monster truck though the turn onto the main road on two wheels in a driving feat any stunt man would have been proud of before the thing landed back on all four wheels. Harold was sure if he could have heard it, there was the sound of squealing tires as John floored the gas pedal propelling the vehicle down the road and out of sight.

 _What have I done?_ Harold clenched his eyes shut tight trying to erase what he had just watched and the scene in the kitchen a few minutes ago from his mind.

Reese had thought Harold’s vehement reaction to John helping him out of his wet clothes was because Harold was self-conscious about his scars from the accident. That had been true in the months following the car wreck, but after dozens of counseling sessions Harold had come to accept that his disfigurements were a part of him now and that the people in his life that truly mattered would accept that too.

Reese was only trying to share that he also bore scars and reassure Finch that Harold’s were not going to change their newfound friendship. And what had Harold done with John’s sharing of something so personal? He had practically mauled the man. Harold had taken advantage of that friendship, knowing full well Reese was still reeling from the loss of a wife and child, had bonded with Harold because of shared mutual tragedies not attraction. No wonder Reese had sped away from the mansion like the hounds of hell were after him.

Maybe it’s just as well that Reese believed Harold was trying to put the moves on him, was so disgusted that Finch had turned a reassuring gesture into something sexual, was abhorred that a gay man had touched him inappropriately. Because if Reese knew the real reason that Harold had shouted ‘no’ John would be even more appalled. Harold had wanted nothing more than to have John strip him naked and touch him intimately, that only a moment of doubt or sanity caused Harold to shout.

Finch groaned futilely. Maybe it was better that the bubble of Harold’s hope that a straight man could ever see him as anything more than a friend be burst now before Harold fell even more hopelessly in love.

Finch was leaning back into the depth of the huge leather seat, hands in his lap, eyes still closed, when a wet nose then a snout pushed its way under his hands. Whether Bear was asking for attention or offering Finch comfort, Harold didn’t know or care. He just started stroking the dog’s head, “I messed things up for both of us, but I’ll do my best to fix things, at least for you.  I don’t know if John will ever want to be near me again let alone forget what just happened.”  

Harold got up, gave Bear the command to heel to his right and walked the dog back into the yard. Finch sent Bear to his doggie den, “Dogs belong out here!” he tried to tell the Malinois firmly.

Simmons exited the kitchen area door carrying the empty wash tub back out to its place in the storage shed. When Patrick re-entered the yard, he spotted Harold standing on the patio. He hurried over to offer apologies for his ill timed entrance back into the kitchen.

Finch didn't bother with formalities, “It's just as well, Patrick. I was just kidding myself thinking that any man like John Reese would ever want to be anything more than a willing accomplice in the care and recovery of this poor animal. If not for Bear, we would never have met and forged any kind of relationship. I doubt John even wants to be friends after what I just did.”

“After what you did, Harold!?!” Patrick asked incredulously. “I might not have seen a whole lot before you two took off like you got caught red handed, but from where I was standing neither one of you were doing anything the other didn’t want.”

Harold shot back, “I’m sure John wanted my hands all over him like he was some male hustler that this desperate and lonely fag propositioned off the street. I bet he couldn’t wait to get in the shower and wash the filth off!”

“Dammit Harold!” Simmons ran his hand over his close cropped silver hair in annoyance. “John Reese doesn’t give a damn about you being gay. This isn’t the seventies. If you can’t see how besotted that boy is with you then you need to go have your vision checked. The man worships the ground you walk on!”

Patrick turned around and stormed back towards the entrance to the servant’s quarters. Before Simmons opened the door to disappear inside the man-servant once again turned to add, “If I may be so bold, Sir? I could see the disgust on his face, just as plainly as I see it on yours right now. More to the point Master Finch. Right before Master Reese turned and ran, he wore the same expression of self-loathing. As if he too felt that he had crossed a line and offended someone.”

Finch stared in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth partially open, where Patrick had stood and delivered his parting salvo. Then Harold started to turn on his heels to go back into the study.

Bear made to follow the bespectacled man with the gentle hands but flopped back down with a confused whine, when he heard a stern almost angry, “ _ **Blijf!**_ ”

Finch felt bad the second the command left his lips, _Damn it! Now I am taking my screw up out on the dog_. Harold reached into one of the khaki’s pockets and pulled out one of the dog treats. He had stuffed them into his pocket earlier thinking praise might be in order sometime while giving the dog a bath. Well, that hadn’t happened and the treat was soggy now but Harold gave it to the Malinois anyways. Finch lowered and calmed his voice, “ _Braaf_ Bear, good boy.”

Once he was assured the canine wasn’t distressed because of his actions, Finch went back inside the mansion, only he used the doors going into his bedroom this time. Harold was probably as upset maybe even more so than following the kitchen fiasco, but this time he was gentler opening and closing this set of French doors.

Finch limped into his bath, started stripping the clothes he was wearing and tossed them near the trash receptacle under the huge vanity counter, boxers and tee shirt joined the clothes as well. Harold turned the shower on adjusting the water’s temperature as hot as he could stand it. He grabbed his lufa and poured some soap onto it and began to scrub his skin vigorously. “Simmons is the one who needs his eyes checked if he believes for one minute that John Reese even likes anything about me. Worships the ground I walk on…” Finch grumbled as he washed.

When Harold felt his skin start to sting from washing it raw, he rinsed and turned the water off. He threw on his bathrobe after a quick once over with a towel. Finch looked at the clothes he had worn at breakfast and during his training lesson with Bear. In a huff he balled them all up and tossed them in the bedroom’s trash bin.

Simmons must have slipped into the room sometime after Harold had changed to bathe Bear and before the ‘kitchen fiasco’, as the incident was now calling itself in his mind, because there was a set of fresh clothing hanging from the wooden valet. In a fit of pique Harold grabbed the clothes and shoved them haphazardly back into his wardrobe and pulled out another set.

Once dressed, Harold retrieved one of his spare set of keys from his bureau and headed back out the patio exit. Not wanting to bother Simmons to bring the Escalade around to the main entrance, Finch walked past a now dozing Bear, across the yard, out the iron gate and over the slated pathway leading to the garage. Finch opened the garage door using the remote and climbed into the Cadillac SUV. For the first time in longer than he could remember Harold drove down the curving drive and out of the estate without a destination in mind and no Nathan seated beside him in the vehicle.

 *** **  
**

Finch had driven out of the mansion’s gates without any thought to where he was heading. Driving aimlessly for hours, and without even realizing it, Harold had turned the SUV down the once so familiar street in Bedford–Stuyvesant.

It had been so long since the three of them had stood on the porch of the brownstone watching the Atlas moving van turn the corner and vanish from their sight. Harold had been the one to drag a protesting Will Ingram into the back seat of the new Lincoln, while his father Nathan did the last walk through with the new owners of the property on Lafayette Avenue.

 _IFP_ had made them millionaires ten times over since they purchased the two story, three bedroom house with the unusually large front and back yards for Will after he had been born. Yet, they had stayed in the neighborhood because of Will, at least for his first seven years.  

Two white men with an infant child moving into the predominantly Afro-American community had certainly caused a stir. But Nathan was a charmer, most certainly with the female population. Some things never changed.

Some of the women of the neighborhood would gather at the corners of their fences gossiping and casting some not too friendly looks in the direction of his and Nathan’s house. Harold never knew when or where Nathan had sweet talked these ladies, but by the end of the second week of their moving in, the refrigerator and freezer were so full of ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ casseroles and desserts, Harold never had to prepare an evening meal for months.

The women would offer to watch baby Will for Harold if he needed a break only the reverse ended up to be true. Will always had playmates because Harold would be called upon to babysit the neighborhood kids so mom could take a break.

Nathan would stop in at the neighborhood bar ‘after work’ becoming just one of the guys. Oddly enough, he ended up the drinking buddy for some of those husbands whose wives would practically swoon when Nathan would talk to them.

Ingram was a hard working single dad whose best friend moved in to take care of young Will. Nathan was the likable one and Harold was the smart one who did everyone’s taxes. No one ever knew the truth. That the third bedroom was converted into an at home office for their business, that their business was _IFP_.

They had lived there, content and happy for years. Nathan had whirled Harold around one night, gifting Harold a mansion on a hill. They needed to step up in the world; a world where it didn't matter if they were married.

Unfortunately, the good times were always clouded over in memory by the bad times. The jeers, the street harassment if they held hands. Their friends dying in the streets at the hands of ignorant gangs who blamed the gays for the new epidemic of AIDS. The lying by omission to their neighbors for fear of reprisals. Even before they got together, at MIT.

Harold remembered the terror he felt every second of every day that somehow his beautiful and redundantly straight roommate would find out that Harold was gay. Or worse, that Harold was in love with the golden boy. Finch would have nightmares about Nathan beating him to death or telling everyone, running Harold out of school. No matter how hard he tried to erase those feelings, no matter how many years they had as a happy, loving, and committed couple, Harold still grew frightened of the reactions of other people to his orientation. It was a major factor in Harold’s seclusion. Raising Will was an excuse to wall himself up, to surround them with only a trusted few.

But Harold needed to remember finally coming out to Nathan. Just telling his friend something only the men down at the bar knew. Nathan had been supportive. Then later, Nathan had made a confession of his own. They had over thirty years together. The bad times were merely a blip on the screen, but they seemed bigger in Harold’s paranoid heart.

Harold watched the house for a few more minutes before driving away, decision made. The brownstone was only minutes away from the _IFP_ building in downtown Brooklyn. Harold would stop in, first checking to make sure the Dorian Cooper situation was still working out and then talk with Leon. Nathan’s old office was still unoccupied and Finch thought he would start coming in mornings to do his beta readings. Bear still needed care and maybe John would continue helping if Harold wasn’t even on the grounds.

*******

Even though _IFP’_ s actual printing and binding facilities had grown as years past, they still remained in the building. As it was remodeled and more floors were added for production, its managerial offices always occupied the top story. Nathan’s office had a view of the Hudson River and Harold watched out the window waiting on Leon Tao to finish his meeting.

Harold turned when Leon burst through the office door, “Hey look Harold if you’re worried about Dorian…” Leon looked up from the iPad he’d been engrossed in, “Oh, you’re not here about that are you?”

Finch smiled weakly and sat down at Nathan’s desk, “Actually that was why I came in today.” Harold shook his head and took a deep breath in, “No, that’s not exactly true. The real reason I wanted to see you was to let you know I will be coming in mornings from now on to look over manuscripts.”

Leon blinked and stuttered. That was unusual for a man who ran his mouth all the time. Finally, he sat down on the corner of the desk. “Look Harold, did I do something wrong?”

Harold smiled, “No, I just thought I should be showing my face at the company that bears my name. It isn't fair making you shoulder the burden alone.”

Leo’s face pinched, “Man, I love all this. I don’t need to be on the letterhead. I get to schmooze and shimmy with the big dogs without all the risk. You hate that stuff. You’re the best copy editor in the industry and you have always done that from home even laid up in traction. What is this really about?”

Harold shook his head, “Nothing, really.”

Leon tossed his iPad onto the desk with a carelessness that startled Harold. The younger man bit his bottom lip then said, “Is this about that boy toy from the vet’s office?”

Harold’s eyes grew round, “What?”

Leon shrugged, “You live in a neighborhood, Harold. Your company is only a few miles from your home. The vet’s an hour away. You think that is far enough for people not to gab about the most eligible gay widower in Brooklyn seen with a new man?”

Harold was gob smacked, “John was married! He had a wife and a child which he lost less than a year ago. How could people think? Oh my goodness! John will be so upset if he finds out people are shipping us already!”

Leon waved him off. “My sources say that John will be cool with it. That vet you went to is an old friend of his and the wife’s. She’s scary, but pansexual and aromantic.”

Harold raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t seem the romantic type to me.”

Leon rolled his eyes. “No, she is an aromantic. She doesn’t do love and emotions.”

Harold nodded. “Ah, that fits.”

Leon gestured wildly with his hands. “Another thing, Zoe Morgan.”

“What about Ms. Morgan?” Harold wasn’t liking this subject turn.

Leon, of course failed to notice. “Well, she was the maid of honor at John’s ten year re-commitment ceremony and she’s bi.”

Leon looked away for a second with an unfocused expression, “She’s scary, too.”

He shook the haze off and said, “Anyway, John and Jessica were big supporters of the LGBT community. They provided security at cost for many of the pride parades. I don’t see him having a problem with it, man.”

Harold enunciated clearly and slowly. “Be that as it may, it is one thing to be comfortable with a person’s sexuality. It is quite another to be romantically linked with a gay man!”

Leon shrugged again and picked up his iPad. “Whatever, dude. Just don’t make assumptions. You remember what happens when you assume? Besides, you look better, you have a spring in your limp that was missing. Just don’t ruin it with your _Stonewall Riot_ act.”

Leon stood and left Harold to his own devises.

***

Harold informed the receptionist at the desk as he left that he would be be working here at _IFP_ now starting in the morning and asked her to please call maintenance to have Nathan Ingram's office cleaned and ready by eight am. Finch checked in with a worried Simmons before he left to tell the man that all was well. He just needed some time and space away from the mansion to think and would be home shortly.

Harold had planned on calling John from the mansion when he arrived home to apologize for his part in this morning’s incident and to plead on Bear’s behalf that John continue on with the care and training of the canine. Only Finch stopped the SUV and backed it up to pull into Reese’s driveway; John’s pickup was parked in the drive. Harold decided to be man enough to face John in person; what was the worst that could happen other than John slamming the door in his face?

Harold was about to ring the doorbell when John came rushing out the door, almost bowling Harold over in his haste.

“Harold?!” Reese grabbed onto Harold’s arms to keep him from tumbling backwards. When he was sure Finch was steady on his feet once more John dropped his hands away.

Harold’s heart clenched painfully when he noticed John couldn’t stand to touch him longer than necessary. Harold looked down at his feet for a moment. _Well that’s that_. He then took a deep breath before looking up at John, “I was going to call you on the phone, but that seemed rather cowardly of me.” John was about to say something but Harold rushed on. “Please hear me out. I am sorry for my inappropriate actions this morning; they won’t happen again I assure you. You still have use of the rooms and anything else you may need is at your disposal as we agreed. And if you would care to make other arrangements to care for and train Bear as you see fit, by all means feel free to do so. But I want Bear to stay at the mansion and if you see my being there as an ongoing problem, I have made arrangements to be at my office downtown starting eight am tomorrow. With the exception of Simmons and Bear of course, you will be the only one on the estate.”

John stood back, stunned, and grabbed Harold’s shoulder before he could continue. “Wait! What? Your inappropriate actions? What are you talking about?” John then lowered his hand to take Harold by an arm, “Come on in. We don’t need to discuss this out here on my steps.”

When they were inside, John asked again, “What do you mean, your inappropriate actions, and why on earth would I not want you around?”

Harold swallowed and repeated himself more slowly like John just hadn’t understood him the way his words had all come rushing out, “I am sorry for my actions earlier. You were sharing something personal to reassure me and I misinterpreted it in a way that made you feel uncomfortable. It won’t happen again. I just don’t want my...”

John interrupted, “Stop. Just stop now please. Let me say something.”

Harold nodded, “Of course.”

John started to speak then paused a second, “No, I want to show you something. I was going to wait until morning when I came to the mansion to care for **our** dog. But I couldn’t wait until then, I was headed on my way out the door just now to show you this.”

John reached inside his jacket pocket and handed Harold a faded Polaroid photo.

As Harold held the Polaroid in his hands of two young soldiers, arms around each other, John told his story.

“His name was Jimmy. We planned to serve our country, do our duty. Then, when our tours were done take our discharge pay and use our benefits to start a security company. He was killed in a firefight and I lost him. I lost the man I loved forever.” John swallowed as his voice cracked. After a few deep breathes he continued. “I met Jessica in an army hospital; she helped save my career. We didn’t marry for love.” John shook his head vigorously when Harold’s brow creased, then Reese stuttered out, “Yes, I loved her in time and we made a life together. I lost Jimmy all those years ago and I wanted to die in battle. When I lost Jess and the baby, I thought my life was over again. I wanted to die like I wanted to before Jessica saved me.” John took a calming inhale this time and softly said, “Only someone found me again. Like Jess helped me want to live when I lost Jimmy so have you, Harold Finch. Thing is, it didn’t take me years to fall in love with you, it only took a moment.”

John took the photo from Harold's hands and placed it on the table. He then pulled Harold’s chin up with his fingertips. “I didn’t run away because you did something that made me uncomfortable or you were doing something I didn’t want. I ran because I thought I was taking advantage, that this was the first time in years you had a friend and here I was trying to put the moves on you. Especially when you were still reeling from losing Nathan. You didn’t lose a watch or a wallet, you lost a giant of industry and a builder of an empire. How disrespectful I must have seemed to presume that I could even pretend to compete. I knew I liked you, I knew I was falling in love with you.”

At that Harold looked up in startled amazement. John smiled and gave half a shrug. “So when you looked scared, I figured you realized what a sleaze ball I am, macking on a grieving man. So, I ran.”

Harold seemed to be overwhelmed. He kept looking between John’s hands, the picture, and John’s face. Finally, John took pity on him. “You say you made a pass. Well, I was doing my best to receive it and toss it back.”

With that, John lowered his head to get closer to Harold’s face. Harold lifted his chin to meet John halfway. Right before their lips would have met, John whispered, “Is this okay?”

Harold had tears in his eyes when he whispered back, “More than okay.”

And they touched their mouths together with gentle pressure, as if any sudden movements might dissolve this moment like the ocean crumbles a sand castle. However, no disaster struck. So, John gathered Harold into his arms and opened his mouth. Harold was right there with him.

 ****~~ * ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't this better!  
> Lot's of snuggling and hand holding ahead.  
> Bear gets better  
> The guys grow closer


	11. Routines Are Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Routines are set

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What has happened during the six weeks  
> since their almost first break-up and make-up  
> Their lives are moving on slowly but surely.

 

Reese pushed the door closed easily with his hip. Thankfully there was just a barely audible click. The sound of a door being closed had a tendency to echo down the staircase and through the halls of the mansion this time of the morning. Harold wouldn’t be up for another hour and John didn’t want to wake him. Simmons was probably up and awake in his room or in the kitchen already only Reese didn’t want to disturb him either. John dumped the armload of clothing he had brought up in one trip on the bed.

The new packages of tee shirts and boxers he put away in one of dressers. He shook the wrinkles out of the shirt and slacks he planned on wearing to the office today and hung them on hangers in the walk-in.

John shook his head looking at practically every good shirt, pair of slacks, or suit he owned hanging there in the closet of his set of rooms at the mansion. He snickered at his folly of having headed over to his place before the crack of dawn to grab more clothes and other things. John sobered though thinking about his empty closet at the house. Two months ago Reese would never be seen leaving the house’s confines now it was like his presence was never there.

Reese still loved the house he and Jess had made their own, parts of themselves would always remain; he would not sell it, not ever. Except now John had a new home and a new life that he was starting with Harold. Only changes such as these do not end or begin overnight. As crazy as it seemed, John’s old life with Jess was ending and his new life with Harold was beginning as gradually as his clothes had migrated from house to mansion.

“Only why did I have to grab this load at this insane hour of the morning?” John burst out laughing then clasped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound even while his shoulders still shook. _Being crazy in love Reese doesn’t mean actual crazy. Now get yourself together!_

It was too late to go back to bed and still too early for anything else so John picked up the binder bound proposal the firm was working on from the computer desk and sat down on the sofa to look it over. John couldn't find anything in it that would get the proposal turned down and put the folder aside. Business was good. Reese bowed his head in thanks. Everything was good.

_Six Weeks Ago_

Harold had lifted the hands he had been holding at his sides to run them up John’s back. When John had opened his mouth inviting him in, Harold moaned into it before hesitantly sliding his tongue over the edges of John’s teeth. Pulling Harold to him even tighter John whimpered and met Harold’s tongue with his own.

They had stood there in Reese's living room holding each tightly as they tasted each other, John of coffee and cinnamon _Tic-Tac_ , Harold of green tea and mint. John would have stood there forever holding Harold close, except that they couldn’t and with reluctance John pulled away. Harold dropped his hands to his sides again with a heavy sigh so John grasped him by the shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. Then John reached up and wiped a tear away that had fallen down Harold's cheek. “It’s okay. We’re good now. Right?”

Harold smiled that smile again that made John’s heart flip and nodded yes.

John tried to pull Harold back into another embrace but Harold put his hands on John’s chest stopping him. Taking a breath as if what he was about to say would shatter everything they had built here, Harold bemoaned, “As much as I would like to stand here kissing you all night, I need to leave now. Simmons will have the police out looking for me if I don't get back soon.”

Harold turned reluctantly to go then turned back, “Tomorrow nine am breakfast?”

John answered with a devilish smirk, “Try keeping me away!”

***

John had felt preposterous asking his neighbor if he could cut some of her zinnias at seven-thirty in the morning. Even though Marta had said, “Take all you need, Hun!” she was probably thinking John was suffering some kind of set-back. Only it was too early for a trip to the flower shop and it was worth the risk of his neighbor thinking he was certifiable—maybe he was—to bring Harold flowers that morning.

Reese parked the truck in front of the steps and eased himself out careful not to drop the old mayonnaise jar with its two inches of water and a riot of Zinnias. As usual Simmons was already standing outside waiting and only cocked an eyebrow, when John had stammered, “For Harold.” Patrick sniffed and took the jar, “I’ll put these in a vase. If you would care to follow me? Breakfast will be on the patio again this morning.”

Simmons set the jar on a counter and disappeared into the kitchen supply room, while Reese went out to greet Bear and feed him a treat.

John was crouched on the ground giving belly rubs to the ecstatic canine when he heard the doors of Finch’s study open. Harold took a few shuffling steps onto the patio, when he stopped his voice quavered, “You’re actually here?”

Reese gave the dog one last rub, then stood and in two long strides was in front of Finch. John pulled Harold into to his arms and teased softly, “I told you; try keeping me away,” and kissed him.

The two broke apart when they heard a discreet cough from Simmons and the wheels of the cart he was pushing. On it were two carafes, a silver serving dish, and a porcelain vase of blue filled with the flowers. Simmons set up the patio table and announced as he set the vase on the table, “For you Sir, from Master Reese.” Simmons then turned away, pushing the cart back the way he had come, a grin cracking his normally rigid face. Harold was gushing about the flowers, his face as pink as some of those zinnias while John was demurring and blushing at the praise.

Simmons served the two men French toast sprinkled with powdered sugar and topped with fresh strawberries with a side of crisp bacon along with a variety of flavored syrups and jams. Patrick waited at a distance in case he was needed, watching them with amused eyes. _I could have served them boiled shoe leather and they wouldn't have noticed._

John and Harold spent the rest of that morning with Bear. The canine seemed to sense a change between his two saviors. Even though he obeyed every command either gave with relish, Bear would also ‘ham it up’ for them too. Of course every time the dog did something right or cute, they praised the dog or laughed carelessly.

Simmons, ever watchful of his charge and friend had a difficult time staying out of sight. He would need to liberally apply the anti-itch cream later standing covertly hidden behind hedge and shrub. Only it was worth it to see the two lock eyes then look away blushing. It did his heart good to see the Harold of old, giddy in love.

After a quick lunch of deviled ham and watercress on crescent rolls both men left for their respective offices.

Finch tried to walk in unobserved to get to Nathan’s office but Leon caught up to him and started elbowing him in the side like they shared some great secret. Leon closed the door, and immediately started gloating, “See, I told you your new boy toy wouldn’t mind!”

Harold sat down in a huff, “I have no idea what you are talking about; John Reese is no one’s boy toy!”

Leon only laughed and laughed harder the more Harold glowered back, ”Okay man, whatever. Admit it though; you and the guy worked things out.”

Harold looked up from the copy he had been pretending to look at, “If it will get you out of my office so I can get some work done, then yes. We worked things out.” Leon gave Harold two thumbs up then left the office.

Harold called the secretary now assigned to him to let her know he would still be coming in, only in the afternoons. He also added he still had sessions for the mornings with the rescue dog they were training to be his assist dog. Wouldn't do any good to lie, everyone at IFP probably knew about Bear **and** John by now.

Over at _J &J_, Reese was still walking on cloud nine after the goodbye kiss Harold had given him, while they waited for his SUV to be brought around and before John climbed into his own vehicle.

The _J &J_ employees who had felt uncomfortable not knowing how to act around John his first day back at work after nine months now returned his infectious smile as he passed them in the hallways on the way to his office.

A few female hearts had been broken when they had heard the scuttlebutt about their boss being seen with someone new, a male someone new besides, but there wasn’t a _J &J_ employee who left work that day who wasn’t happy their boss was going to be okay.

Fusco turned a corner, took one look at John, and had to restrain himself from jumping into the air, whooping it up like the Rangers had just won the Stanley Cup. That only lasted a second after he closed John’s office door behind him before Lionel grabbed his boss in a bear hug.

After Reese managed to squeeze loose from Lionel’s over exuberant congratulations, John explained it had all been one giant misunderstanding on both his and Harold's parts.

On his way home from work Reese stopped by his house and gathered a few things to take to the mansion. Harold had insisted at breakfast the offer of the use of the suite was still open. Besides the rooms upstairs always stayed empty, might as well use them. Reese had the feeling Harold didn’t want John to feel he was being kept, which was ridiculous. John had already jumped at using the rooms before their misunderstanding just to be near Harold.

Over dinner that night, another lavish meal, of course, they talked about their relationship. Both agreed to take things slowly moving forward, but they would move forward, together.

***

In the next six weeks they followed a routine set early on. The two men would have breakfast together and inside the mansion or out on the patio Bear was allowed to join them. The three would then train together. Bear was still hobbled by the cast but he would take his job seriously whenever Harold gave the commands. They had playtime, the three of them, yet at the end of the six weeks Bear knew the difference between play with Harold and take care of Harold.

They would then have a quick lunch, separate showers, dress and depart for their business offices. Simmons took charge of the dog or was it the other way around. No one could tell.

Dinner and the evenings were spent together. Harold would read while John watched TV or asked Harold to read out loud. At the end of the day they would retire to their separate bedrooms after a good night’s kiss.

They kissed sweetly at every opportunity as if they needed to reassure themselves that this was real. They held hands while walking or training Bear. They touched often, little gestures like cupping the back of the other’s neck, fixing hair, or just a warm arm rub. They were adorable and Patrick said so at every turn just to see Harold blush and John laugh.

Yes everything was good. John couldn’t be happier here with Harold and knew the feeling was mutual. How could he not when every emotion John experienced now was mirrored in Harold's eyes. Add to that Simmons taking every opportunity to pull Reese to the side to praise whatever miracle had brought the two into Harold's life and John for making Harold smile, really smile, and laugh again.

As for the canine half of that duo, Bear was filling out, the sheen was back in his coat, and hopefully the memories of his abuse were forgotten. The dog dozed peacefully now and rarely fidgeted from terror dreams. Bear’s cast was coming off tomorrow; it would be time to reintroduce him to the public.

The canine needed to be able to perform even with distractions. Reese wanted Bear to go to work with Harold, to once again trust his instincts about which humans to trust, which to not. Bear needed to no longer be afraid of all humans except Finch and Finch-approved people. Bear and Harold's bond was unique and unbreakable, that was true, only that had been a miraculous inexplicable lifeline the injured animal had latched onto.

Harold had resisted when John first brought up the idea of the three of them starting out by walking the neighborhood when Bear’s cast was off. He wasn’t ashamed to be seen with John. In fact, John knew Harold puffed himself up a bit being in Reese’s company. Harold was worried somehow even still that their being seen together would be bad for Reese's business image.

John sometimes wanted to punch a wall. The same treatment of his lifestyle that had him entering what was then a sham marriage had been worse for Harold. Now even thirty years later, after having been married to the business legend who was Nathan Ingram, Harold was still afraid of people.

Reese would find ways to introduce the inherent goodness of humanity back into Bear’s life as well as Harold’s.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear is healed on the outside  
> now to heal him on the inside  
> Harold Finch too.


	12. The Cast Comes Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cast comes off. Bear gets his cast taken off.  
> Shaw is amazed to see Bear now.  
> John makes a promise about his and Harold's first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A missed breakfast  
> a little heat  
> and a trip to the vet.

0

Finch awoke to the soft rapping at his door. Simmons entered the room after waiting the respectful amount of time he gave Harold to respond if his employer needed privacy. The valet entered the room carrying a breakfast tray he sat on the small table before moving over to the window. Patrick pulled back the draperies and pushed the windows out to allow the morning breeze to air out the room.  

Harold closed his eyes a moment to quell the pang of disappointment that it wasn’t John who had knocked softly before entering. Even though Reese lived in the mansion now, John had respected the boundaries going slow in their relationship needed. For now morning kisses at breakfast either in the dining room or on the patio were their first of the morning not in bed with mussed hair and morning breath. Harold smiled thinking of them waking in bed someday and that soon he would be kissing John, they were having their morning meal before taking Bear to see Dr. Shaw. _Wait Simmons brought in a tray!?!_

Harold sat up suddenly, groaning under his breath with moving so suddenly, and startling Patrick who was still looking out the window. Simmons quickly gathered himself before announcing in his overly formal tone, “Master Reese will meet you at the scheduled time for Bear’s trip to the veterinarian but sends his apologies that he will be unavailable to share the morning repast.”

Harold tried to hide the disappointment in his voice as ridiculous as it was; John was only going to be absent for their morning meal, “Oh, I see. Thank you Patrick.”

Simmons made to excuse himself but stopped at the door and turned, “Harold, Mr. Reese was excited when he cornered me in the kitchen this morning. He asked me to bring you up a tray and to make sure that you dress casually. Also, he told me not to expect any of you to be back until dinner tonight.” Before Harold could grill Simmons for more the valet slipped out the door.

Finch eased his legs off the edge of the bed and slipped his feet one at a time into his slippers. He stood and shuffled into the bathroom to relieve himself and wash up before returning to his bedroom to sit at the small round table. Harold drank two cups of his morning tea while nibbling at the cream cheese Danish. He smiled while watching out the window the few moments Bear was on that bedroom side of the yard; the dog was playful with just himself for company, cast and all.

Curiosity started to niggle at him again when he heard Reese’s whistle and watched Bear hobble out of sight. _Well Harold, I guess you’ll never know sitting here in your night robe wondering_.

Finch took a quick shower, shaved, and then dressed in the clothes Simmons had chosen for him to wear. Casual, yes, but Patrick had made sure to pick out the most flattering. Finch fingered the Gucci polo with its embroidered emblem of a horse and rider, its color either blue or gray or both the colors changing with the light, a birthday gift from Nathan. Harold removed the shirt from its wooden hanger almost reverently before slipping the polo on. The shirt complemented the black Prada slacks with the French button fly. Grey suede Prada shoes and matching Armani leather belt completed the outfit.

Reese and Simmons were talking, Bear sitting at John’s right when Harold opened the study doors. Patrick nodded at John, then bowed his head briefly in Harold’s direction before he left the two men and dog to take care of his household duties for the rest of the day. Reese reached down and scratched the canine’s ears, patiently commanding him, _“Blijf”_ , before walking over to Finch.

John grabbed a mildly surprised Harold by the arms, pulling him close and almost in a whisper apologized, “Sorry I changed our plans, I promise I’ll make it up to you, starting now.” John slid his hands up Harold’s arms and across Harold's shoulders to spread his fingers on Harold’s neck. John’s thumbs rubbed light circles on Harold’s jaw while John bent his head and pressed his mouth gently to Harold’s his tongue caressing Harold’s lips begging for entrance. As Harold slid his hands up John’s back, splaying his fingers across John’s shoulders in turn pulling John closer, Harold opened his mouth with a groan letting John in.

The press of mouth against mouth, tongue dancing with tongue, went on and on, but eventually both men had to pull back to take a breath. Harold gulped some air in and on the exhale breathed out, “Apology accepted!”

John smiled, then pulled a willing and wanting Harold back in for more. John’s hand slid up between them to undo the buttons of Harold's polo, John’s kisses moved downward from jaw to neck to the spot on Harold’s chest above the line where graying brown chest hair started and back up to press another kiss to Harold’s mouth as if asking permission for more. Harold slid his hand under John’s shirt to touch the warm skin of John’s back. Almost agreeing without words the two edged their way backwards towards Harold’s study. They were desperately kissing now until Bear’s impatient yip had them dropping their hands and pulling back.

John cleared his throat then grinned abashed and looked at his watch. “Better than an alarm,” John sighed, “We should get going. Bear’s appointment is in an hour.” When Harold tried to move past, John held him by the arm and looked at Harold’s face thinking Harold had gotten the wrong impression why John was embarrassed, “If we didn’t have to go, you know what I wanted to do? I’m not ashamed of that. Do you understand?” John caught Harold’s chin and lifted it up, “I’m embarrassed because I got carried away that’s all. I want you Harold. When I make love to you it’s going to be after something more romantic than a missed breakfast.”

When Harold’s face brightened and he grinned back, John linked the fingers of his right hand with Harold’s left and tugged, “Come on, Dr. Shaw’s waiting.”

Harold blinked in a bit of confusion when they walked out the gate together to see there was an older, but well-kept and recently washed Jeep Cherokee wagon parked in front of his Escalade’s garage door. John opened the rear window and tailgate to reveal Bear’s pet carrier in the back.

John explained wistfully, “It belonged to Jess. I don't think she would want it stuck in our garage gathering dust or mind us using it now. It was meant to carry kids and family; Bear’s kind of my kid and you two are my family now, Harold.”

Harold stepped close and hugged John for a minute, “I don’t think she would. I’m touched you feel that way John. You are my family too.” John smiled thankfully at Harold before calling Bear over and lifting the canine into the carrier.

When they were seated in the Jeep, John turned to Harold and answered his unspoken question, “I have somewhere I want to take you today after we leave the vet’s office. I don’t believe in taking someone on a date when they drive their own vehicle and since you refuse to ride in the Beast, as you have so aptly named my truck, I spent the early morning at the car wash.”

***

Saturday morning appointments at Dr. Shaw’s clinic were normally reserved for return visits but the waiting room was still filled with walk-in clients with a variety of ‘patients’ on leashes, in pet taxis, or bird cages even, as well as those owners whose pets had scheduled appointments. They could have used the rear entrance as Shaw had instructed them to do, but Reese suggested they wait in the lobby. “I want to see how Bear reacts to new people and other animals. Just use your commands, Harold, calm and soothing,” John had instructed with a reassuring smile and clasp on Harold’s shoulder.

Harold took a seat while John checked in with the receptionist. Bear was leery at first; his hair bristled on his back, as he heeled at Finch's right until Harold sat down. John watched out of the corner of his eye while the receptionist checked them in. Bear calmed as Finch stroked the dog’s head and spoke to the canine as John had encouraged Harold to do. When John took the empty seat next to Harold, Bear was leaning against Harold’s leg as if needing protection as well as doing the protecting. Still it was a good sign when the canine’s ears started twitching to catch the sounds as the dog started watching with interest other humans and their animal friends. It was a big step in Bear’s recovery that the dog knows once again not all humans were like the person or persons who had abused him. What better place than a room filled with people full of love and concern for their animals?

As for getting Harold to trust people again, the busy waiting room was as good as any place to start. Harold knew as well as John that people would notice, that word would spread like wildfire about John Reese and the new love interest in his life. John wanted a way to reassure Harold that John was not the least concerned about showing the public he was in a same sex relationship or that it would hurt his business in any way.

As for people reacting to seeing the two of them being affectionate towards each other in public as vile and disgusting well...John pecked Harold on the cheek then announced in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the room, “We’re all checked in, **sweetheart**. They’ll be calling us back soon,” and then flung his arm around Harold’s shoulder pulling him close.

Finch of course stiffened and looked around the room expecting the worst. Only no one paid them any more attention than they would any other loving couple; no horrified looks were cast their way. Harold then relaxed under the arm draped over his shoulders, even clasped John’s hand with as much fervor when John used his free hand to take hold of Harold’s.

When eventually they were called in, no one who glanced their way even twitched an eye upward watching two men holding hands while their ‘child’ walked beside his shorter father.

One of the veterinary assistants showed the three into an exam room and within minutes Shaw peeked in motioning for John to come outside. Dr. Shaw showed Reese a file with the names and registered owners of every Belgian Malenois in the United States, “If Bear’s owner is out there no one has reported their dog missing Reese.”

John shook his head, “I’ve had one of the firm’s investigators looking for Bear’s owner and I’ve even checked with some old military contacts. No one here or in the military overseas has reported a missing K-9. We may never know who Bear belongs to, his real identity, or how he came to be in the possession of the ones who starved and maimed him.”

Shaw handed the file to the same assistant who had shown the men to the exam room. Shaw asked the assistant to return it to her office. With a sullen grimace the vet conceded, “Bear will never work again in what he was born, bred, and trained to do. The best we can do is licensing him as an abandoned stray that you have non-professionally schooled to be an assist dog for your partner.”

Shaw then startled a normally unflappable Reese when she clapped John on the back and grinned, “Well on the bright side you two have one hell of an animal that is better off with you anyways. Come on; let’s get the cast off our friend’s leg.”

Shaw had Harold stand to the side to calm Bear when she used the cutters on the cast. Bear spooked a bit when the vet started to cut through the material, but he didn’t growl or show teeth. When she was done and offered the dog a treat, Bear tentatively swiped at her hand with his tongue to gobble up the reward.

Dr. Shaw then caught Finch’s eye, “I’m amazed at how much this dog has changed since you brought him in starved, frightened, and lashing out with aggression at anyone who came near. That is, except for you and John. It’s a miracle to see this animal beginning to trust again. I thought it was a mistake to let him leave here in your care. I’ve never been so happy to be proven wrong in in my life.” The unexplained hostility the vet had showed Finch when they first met was gone and replaced with respect as she offered her hand. When Finch took it, Shaw added with an unexpected beam to her normally sour disposition, “Keep up the good work!”

 ~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Declarations at the drive-through


	13. Lunch in Public

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes Harold to lunch in a public place.  
> It's still not a perfect world  
> but John shows Harold people won't shun them  
> or worse anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John admits his feelings  
> Harold could eat paper he's so happy  
> Bear makes a little friend (Thanks m for the assist)

****

 

Finch was so caught up in extolling Reese’s part in Bear’s transformation and Dr. Shaw’s changing her low opinion of him that Harold didn’t notice when John steered the Jeep in the opposite direction of the mansion. Not only was Finch still astounded by the complete one-eighty Dr. Shaw had done going from outright animosity to friendly regard when he was in her presence, Harold was amazed by the metamorphosis in Bear without the cast.

Bear took a few gingerly steps when Finch first led him out of the exam room. After that, while there was still the slightly noticeable limp the dog would always have, Bear pranced at Harold’s side as they walked out the rear entrance to the clinic. When Reese pulled the Jeep wagon around, an unleashed Bear was dancing around Harold’s feet. John parked the vehicle near the door and opened the tailgate. Bear leapt up on the tailgate, entered the pet taxi, turned in it to lie down with an ‘I’m ready to go’ tilt of his head as if anticipating John’s _kennel_ command ahead of time. Harold had stood their wide-eyed with astonishment before turning his head to gaze at John with admiration.

So it continued until Reese turned the Cherokee right at a stoplight and pulled into a fast food joint before Finch finally took note of their surroundings. John raised a hand to stay the question he knew Harold was about to ask to order them both a grilled chicken salad, two cherry limeades, and a plain ground beef patty for Bear at the drive-through window then parked the wagon near a covered patio table.

Finch turned in his seat, then tried to ask, “Where are we…?” when John leaned over, silencing Harold’s question with a quick kiss. John then winked mischievously, “That is a surprise. You’ll just have to wait and see. Right now I’m starved.” John chuckled, “No breakfast, remember?” He handed Finch the sack with their food, “Take this over to the table while I carry the drinks.”

Harold gaped at John while shaking his head for a moment as if John couldn’t be serious. Only Harold couldn’t resist; he returned John’s infectious smiled and laughed a bit before getting out of the Jeep.

Reese nearly tripped over the small curbing trying to contain the riotous laughter threatening to burst from him as he watched Finch grab a paper napkin from the bag and wipe down the table when not two minutes before an employee had scrubbed it down.

John set the drinks down then hurried round to pull out the wrought iron patio chair for Harold to sit on. He even grabbed another napkin to wipe it down. Harold did sit down finally eyeing John with a raised eyebrow. Harold nearly jumped out of the chair when John bent over and nipped him playfully on the ear and murmured, “I’m going to go get Bear.”

Reese opened the back of the wagon and clipped the leash to Bear’s collar before letting the dog jump down. John pointed at Harold, “ _Zoek!_ ” He barely kept up when Bear eagerly trotted over to Finch and started snuffling Harold all over seeking a treat. Up until then Harold had been looking around expecting something dire to happen, but ended up laughing mirthfully at the dog’s persistence. Reese finally took mercy, told Bear, “ _Zit”_ , slid the handle of the leash under a table leg, and fed Bear the beef patty.

Reese rushed back to the Jeep and grabbed some of the foil packed hand wipes Jess had squirreled away in the glove box. Finch looked like Reese had literally saved the day when John handed him two of the packets.

While Harold opened one to cleanse his hands, John opened his salad and Harold’s as well. When Harold looked at John’s hands, then at the food, John grinned unrepentant, then reached over and grabbed the extra hand wipe. While Reese rectified his lapse in sanitary judgment, Finch set a napkin next to each container and opened the packaged plastic-ware. Harold then set a plastic spork and knife each atop the napkins.

John watched Harold fondly at the man’s fussiness. When Harold looked over at him quizzically, John tilted his head, “I love you Harold Finch, quirks and all.”

The packaged dressing was a far cry from Simmons’ specialty blend, the tomatoes were pink and mealy, but Harold didn’t complain. How could he? Out here in the fresh air, the wind whipping through John's hair, slightly mussing the cowlick of the most handsome man in the city; when that man with his sea blue eyes just declared he was in love with peculiar little Harold Finch. It was endearing if a little odd that now when their eyes would meet, John would look away like a teenager embarrassed to have his first crush looking back at him.

John had to keep looking away every time Harold would glance up at him. He had wanted to bring Harold out in public, shower him with affection, but damn, he had wanted to put his feelings into words over a romantic dinner at the mansion not over wimpy take out salad from a drive through. At least the other part of this outing was working out.

After Bear had inhaled the beef patty, he sat by Harold’s hip taking in his surroundings, sniffing the air around him. To anyone with an untrained eye, Bear was just a dog sitting obediently by his master’s side while the man ate, but John could see the dog had settled into a relaxed guarding pose. Maybe John was the miracle worker Harold claimed him to be as the Malinois wasn’t leaning into Harold for protection anymore; Bear was content watching for danger without himself getting upset.

When the salads were eaten and the drinks finished John picked up their trash and walked over to the nearest trash can and dumped everything. Harold was about to get up to walk back to the car so John had to rush over to their table and tell him they still had time to kill until their date.

Harold sat back down, arms crossed in front of him, tilting his head with that raised eyebrow of his, “Are you going to keep me in suspense or can I have at least a hint where this outing of ours is headed?” John reached across the table holding his hand out wiggling his fingers until Harold got the message, looked around, uncrossed his arms, and put his hand in John’s. Reese repeated the actions with his free hand until Harold relented and let John clasp his other hand.

John then leaned forward with that devilish look in his eye, “It’s a secret. All I can tell you is that we’re going for a walk in a park.” Finch tried to look extremely annoyed but couldn’t quite pull it off with John’s thumbs caressing the backs if his hands so Harold ended up huffing in mock frustration. Harold remained sitting though with his hands in John’s.   

The drive thru customers didn’t even give them a second glance. Except that any child who happened to glimpse Bear immediately got excited and wanted to pet the doggie. One set of very young parents who decided to picnic next to them had a four year old boy who couldn’t sit still and eat. He was hopping up and down, pointing at the doggie, wanting to play.

John spoke to the parents and asked if he could talk to the little boy. They said yes to Harold’s surprise. John knelt in front of him and said, “My name is John Reese. Your parents said I could talk to you so that means I am not a stranger. Because you would never talk to strangers would you?"

Wide eyed, the little boy slowly shook his head. John continued, “When you see a dog for the first time you are a stranger to him. So you have to ask his parents if you can say hi. Just like I had to ask your Dad. Understand?”

Huge blue eyes nodded so John smiled. “Some dogs have jobs. Like your Mom and Dad. You wouldn’t want to go up to your Dad at work if he was busy would you?”

Blonde hair was ruffled as he shook his little head vigorously. John smiled conspiratorially, “Bear is a working dog. His job is to help Harold here. Harold got into an accident and needs help sometimes. Bear is going to help him now. Isn't that an important job?”

The little boy whispered in a low breath, “Yes.”

John called Bear over. “See, he speaks a special language. That is his work language. But he is on a lunch break with Harold. So because you asked so nicely you can pet him. But let me tell him it is okay. Bear even works through lunch. “

The little boy giggled. John pointed at the little boy and told Bear to kiss him. Bear went over and sniffed the tyke then licked a long swipe up his face. The peals of laughter put the parents and Harold at ease. Tiny fingers dug into the soft fur. A small head touched Bear’s neck. It was quiet all around. Harold held his breath but nothing bad happened. Instead, the little boy hugged Bear harder. Finally, John said that Bear needed to go back to work and that the little boy needed to finish his lunch.

Reluctantly he agreed. He waved goodbye to Bear and his mother got out the sanitizing gel for little hands.

John sat back down at the table but only after pecking Harold on the cheek. Finch stiffened, expecting the young couple to be disgusted or leave. Instead, the father winked at Harold in relief and the mother shrugged as if all the good ones were gay or taken.

Nobody thought they had to explain to the little boy what happened. No one called a manager over, no one left or got upset. The only one who even looked flustered was the little boy when he had to leave. He asked to hug Bear again and started crying, but he waved goodbye, trying to be a Big Boy.

Harold watched them leave. He turned to John. “You didn’t plan that did you?”

John laughed, “No.” He wiped his mouth. “Sure, there still are a lot of places where our showing affection will be a problem. But this is Brooklyn, New York not Alabama or Arizona. Most bigots are going to be too cowardly to say anything to your face. The real prejudice is silent and deadly with the back-room gossip and quiet shutting of doors because you aren’t ‘the right kind of people’, but listen: you are richer than god. Money opens those doors back up. I look like I could snap them in two. Between being awed by your power and scared of my training people aren’t going to do anything. Most people under thirty are going to think we’re a cute old couple anyway.”

Harold was indignant, “John you are hardly old!”

John looked at his watch then got up to offer Harold a hand. “Hold that thought! Let’s see how young either one of us feels when we get home tonight."

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the park


	14. A Kiss in the Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to Prospect Park and a Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> deja vous for Harold  
> Harold kisses John IN PUBLIC!  
> and nothing happens.  
> Nobody screams, points fingers, or throws things  
> Well that's not quite true  
> they do attract some unwanted attention

  ****

 

Finch watched out the window searching for old familiar landmarks trying to hazard a guess where Reese was driving them to. Yet the more he looked, the more nostalgia took over his memories in waves.

On the right was the drugstore Harold had spent countless accumulated hours waiting on Will’s prescriptions to be filled. The old RX was nestled among remodeled storefronts with the names of shops he didn’t recognize displayed on their glass fronts. Long gone were the drugstore’s neighbors of twenty years ago.

The mom and pop diner where Nathan and he would treat Will to a chocolate malted, burger, and fries on a lazy Sunday afternoon was now a restaurant specializing in Thai food.

They had moved away from the neighborhood and to a new life. Harold had never regretted it; he had never looked back. So, why was he feeling wistful now?

Harold was mulling this over in his mind when he sat up straighter. John pulled their vehicle into the reserved parking space for _J. Reese_. The three story building with its reflective glass set within silver Harold recognized immediately even though he had never been to the _J &J_ head office before now.

Reese had put the vehicle in park, turned off the engine, and was out the door before Finch even drew in a breath to ask why they were there. Harold had to settle for twisting in the seat to watch John unload Bear, then turn back facing the other way as John came around to Harold’s side of the vehicle, Bear trotting happily beside him, and opened the passenger door.

Harold thought nothing of taking John’s proffered hand and letting John help him out of the Cherokee. Once Harold was clear of the door, John handed him the end of Bear’s leash, closed the front passenger door and opened the rear.

Harold’s confidence in his powers of observation took a giant hit as he watched Reese remove a garment bag that had been hanging on a hook in the back all this time.

Harold eyed the bag, then John’s clothes, then the garment bag once more. John slung the bag over his shoulder with one hand and grabbed Harold’s elbow with the other leading him towards the building’s entrance. With mock hurt Reese pouted, “What? You thought I was going to be seen walking alongside my date, who happens to be the most handsome and well-dressed man in Brooklyn, looking like I just fell off the turnip truck?”

Harold didn’t get a chance to answer before he was being shuffled through the double doors of the office building, John on one side, Bear on the other. There was a wide and unoccupied receptionist’s desk immediately in front and to the right of anyone entering the door.

John ushered him past the desk to an elevator at the end of a hall. On the left was an entire room walled off ceiling down to waist high with glass. Two uniformed security guards were monitoring camera feeds and large computer screens displaying maps, each a section of Brooklyn with hundreds of twinkling green lights at various locations. As the elevator doors opened one guard said something to the other. They both looked up at John then saluted their boss. They both immediately went back to their tasks, neither of them having given Harold a second glance.

Reese let go of Harold’s arm, stepped into the elevator, and pushed one of the buttons. Harold only shook his head in disbelief and stepped into the elevator after John, the perfect imitation of an elevator operator, asked, “Going up, sir?”

Once the doors closed Harold finally had the chance to ask why they made a stop at John’s company. Harold then looked John slowly up and down taking in the blue knit shirt and faded designer jeans that admirably showed off John’s physique so much so that Harold found himself needing to swallow and clear his throat before he could comment, “You most certainly do not look like you just fell off the turnip truck!”

John leaned over just as the doors opened and solemnly kissed Harold on the cheek again, “Thank you.”  

There was an actual lobby this time with a few chairs against two walls and another empty receptionist’s desk; offices arranged in a u-shape were beyond. Reese led them to the left and a very short hallway, one office on either side. John opened the door with his name on it and let Harold along with Bear enter first. John then moved past them in the spacious office to open another door to his right and hung the garment bag on a hook.

Reese walked back towards them, took the leash from Harold’s hand and unclasped the lead from Bear’s collar. Harold voiced his protest when John pointed to a small sofa and told Bear, _“Af liggen!”_ Only his protest was short lived when John pulled him close, wrapping his arms around Harold’s back in a loose hug. “A reward. I think he’s earned a little pampering so far today.” John pecked Harold on the lips with a quick kiss and stood back. His hands moved to hold Harold at the hips. “I need to take care of something. You freshen up while I’m gone.” John winked and grinned. “You don’t strike me as the sort who would use a porta-potty.”

Finch was about to disagree when he remembered the fair they’d taken Will to when the boy was eight or nine. Harold had vowed then, never again. Harold groaned, “No, I’m not.”

John tossed his head back and laughed, then scoffed playfully shaking his head, “Rich people." John opened the door, while saying, "I’ll be right back." He was about to leave when he turned his head to look at Harold and added, "There’s a tube of sunscreen in the medicine cabinet. You might want to put some on. We might not be in the shade for any length of time. I don’t want my date looking like boiled lobster when I take him home."

Harold used Reese’s private lavatory then found the tube of sunscreen and applied some liberally. He really was touched by John’s consideration; he would have held it in until they had returned home to the amenities of the mansion. As for the sunscreen...Harold hadn’t spent any huge amount of time in the full sun since he’d last ridden Samaritan—a bay with four white socks, his favorite horse in their stables—on a three hour ride over the private trails of their property.

Harold promised himself that he would think of something to return John’s thoughtfulness in kind. A plan was already formulating in his head when he capped the tube of ointment, satisfied he had covered every inch of exposed skin. When he opened the door, John had already returned from his errand.  

“Why don’t you sit in my office chair while you wait? It’s more comfortable than the other chairs in this room that are only rocks in disguise,” John suggested as he gently pushed Finch in that direction. “I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes or so, but if you sit in any other chair for that long I might have to carry you, not walk with you in the park.” John went into his private restroom. As he was about to close the door, he looked back with an impish expression, “Not that I’d mind, you know.” Then Reese closed the door.

Harold sat behind John’s desk to wait. A picture of John and a very pregnant Jess sat on one corner of the desk. John had his arms wrapped around her; both looked so happy and full of life. Harold imagined he should feel some jealousy, but thought better of it when there was a picture at home in his study of him with Nathan at Will’s graduation from medical school. It was the best moment of their lives and they couldn't have been more on top of the world.

Harold smile was bittersweet, thinking about the partners they both had lost. He thought about how much joy John had returned to his own life and even though they haven’t been on their actually date as of yet, Harold could tell John was as blissful as he. At least Harold prayed that was true.

Harold sat forward in the chair then and carefully picked up a set of picture frames, four small 5x7s attached to one another, that was sitting on the right side of John’s desk. They were shots of John watching him and Bear taken—by Simmons obviously—at different times in the past six weeks. If Harold had any doubts up until now, all of them were erased as Harold looked at John’s eyes in the progression of photos. In the first one, John was watching the Malinois and him in what was probably their first training session. John’s eyes seemed to match the huge grin on his face, but if you looked closely there was sadness in them too. The poses were basically the same, John watching Bear and him, but as time progressed the sadness in John’s eyes lessened in each one. The last photo was snapped only a week ago. There was so much love and happiness in John’s eyes without any tinges of sorrow. _He really does love me._

Harold gently set the pictures back in their place and stood when John opened the lavatory door. A freshly shaven John couldn’t have looked more handsome in a wine colored button up, a silk tie held to the shirt with a gold tie-clasp, and black slacks.

The words Harold should have spoken earlier when John had professed his feelings came bubbling from Harold's mouth. “I love you, John Reese.” Harold grinned a devilish smirk and added, “Quirks and all.”  

Harold walked from around the edge of John’s desk as John moved towards him. They ended up embracing and kissing, exchanging ‘I love you’s as they did. It was only when Bear jumped from the sofa, squeezing between the two men wanting to be included in the festivities that John sighed and let Harold go.

Reese knelt down to receive some doggie kisses from Bear, then hugged the dog to him with one arm and patted Bear's side with the other. He looked up at Harold, feigning exasperation, “Remind me to have Simmons babysit next time.”

John stood up, grabbed the leash, and hooked it to Bear’s collar handing Harold the other end again. “I guess we should be going now anyways.” One of the security officers who had been in the dispatch room earlier met John and Harold at the elevator to hand John two V.I.P. badges on lanyards. The officer smiled at his boss and then at Harold, “Laskey is the one in charge of security at the park today. He radioed in a few minutes ago. Everything has been arranged as you requested for when you arrive.”

Reese thanked the officer and turned to Harold, “Ready?”

***

The feeling of deja vous was overwhelming as Reese drove into Prospect Park at the main entrance. Was it a line from a song or a saying—the more things change the more they stay the same—that was playing around in Finch's head as they drove past the Grand Army Plaza?

Harold felt at ease recalling fond memories of life slowing down, Nathan at the wheel driving them slowly around the park, foot traffic and cyclists often impeding their progress.

Of course, as the road meandered around to the east side of the park, Will would get excited. If it wasn’t too late in the day they would find their way to the zoo or the carousel or both. When Sunday wound down and they eventually made it home, Nathan would carry an exhausted Will up the steps of their old brownstone and tuck the already sleeping boy into bed.

Nathan who never seemed to tire, more often than not would find a drained Harold sprawled on the bed sideways. Finch harrumphed to himself, his lip curling upwards at one corner, smiling fondly as he closed his eyes and remembered. Nathan would undress him like a rag doll because he was so spent down to his tee and boxers and then turn him the right way on the bed. He would wake later to Nathan curled around him, Nathan’s arm thrown possessively across his waist, a sheet covering them both.

John’s booming voice brought him back to the present as Reese pulled the Jeep between two other _J &J_ security vehicles that had bars with four yellow strobe lights affixed to their roofs and were parked in a cordoned off area with a yellow metal sign with black lettering attached to the ropes that warned, _Security Parking Only_. Across the road further south two hundred feet away was _The Boathouse_. “We’re here.” John turned his head for a second before he opened the door, “Wait a minute I’ll come round to help you out.”

Reese opened the driver side back door and picked up what looked like two rectangular pieces of plastic. Harold watched John fix one of them to the driver’s door then come around to repeat the same thing on the passenger side door before he opened it. Reese offered his hand to help Harold out and Harold once again took it, even thanking John this time.

John grabbed the lanyards he had dropped into the accessories tray between the Jeep’s front seats and pulled Harold by the elbow so he could close the door. One of the lanyards Reese slid over Harold’s head careful not to knock Finch’s glasses off then handed the other over, asking Harold to hold it while he went to let Bear out of the pet taxi. Harold stepped back even more to glance at the door. The plastic pieces were actually magnetic signs with _J &J Security_ printed on them along with the company's address and phone number.

When John returned to Harold, the Malinois trotting beside him, Bear was already alert and surveying the people, sounds, and smells surrounding him. John handed Harold the leash, then put his hands on Harold’s shoulders in a reassuring manner, “Remember what you and Bear have been training to do the past six weeks. The leash is really just some semblance that you are in control holding on to it for those around you.”

Reese shook his head looking at the end of the leash Harold held loosely in his hands, “If a seventy five pound guard dog really wants to run, a leash won't stop him anyways.” John nodded at Harold’s hands, “You holding on to the end of the leash like that really only lets Bear know you are there, safe. Use your voice commands, when you want him to do something. Just like we practiced. Okay?”

Reese linked his arm through Harold’s left when Harold nodded and started walking in the direction of _The Long Meadow_ , Bear following along at Harold’s right. Reese was pleased as well as relieved when the Malinois fell in, matching Harold’s stride at Finch’s softly spoken command to heel. Now on their way, John apologized as they moved towards a large gathering, “Sorry, we couldn’t park closer.” John chuckled mischievously, “I kind of broke procedure parking the Jeep where I did. But, I think my date is worth a little rule bending.”

Reese stopped when they had to leave the paved foot path to walk on grass. John turned a bit to grab Harold’s arm and swung it up behind his own back, “Hold on to me. I won’t let you stumble.” Finch looked around at the people passing by heading in the same direction they were. Everyone was focused on reaching their destination not the men who had stopped in their way except to walk around. Harold held tight to John’s back then tighter at his partner’s urging. Satisfied John swung his right arm loosely across Harold's shoulder. When they began walking again, Harold settled into the embrace. John was a rock steady presence on his left; Bear was the loyal protector heeling close to his right.

John guided them to what appeared to be a sign up or guest check in table. A friendly, middle aged woman marked their names off a guest list. Flirting with John, she openly laughed, “I guess you won’t be needing these,” pointing at some sticky backed paper name tags after she noticed the V.I.P. IDs hanging from the lanyards. Harold couldn’t help blushing when John took hold of his hand. Reese was already looking away and missed when the woman's flirtation with him ended with an unspoken, “ _Oh.”_ Nor did John notice the wink of admiration she gave Harold and a mouthed, “ _Way to go_.” Last but not least John missed the way Harold couldn't help but waggle his eyebrows conspiratorially at her before the three moved away from the table.

They then walked past a row of tables set up underneath colored awnings. John let go of Harold’s hand only long enough to grab literature and stuff it in the free tote he picked up at the first table in line. Halfway down the row John stopped and purchased a dog training manual. When Harold raised an eyebrow questioningly John just shrugged his shoulders and grabbed Harold’s hand again, “As amazing as I am, I don’t know everything.”

Harold just rolled his eyes, “Such modesty.”

When a round of applause came from the crowd already seated, John pulled Harold's hand, “Come on! Showtime!”

There was a section of seats marked reserved that John lead Harold to, and one of _J &J’s_ event staff nodded in their direction as John found the two empty seats together with their names on them.

An announcer on a loudspeaker called out the names of the contestants participating in the first round of events and requested the audience hold their applause until the end when the judges announced the winners. For the next sixty minutes amateur trainers worked their dogs through an obstacle course. Even though some of the canines participating in the first contest were obviously purebred most were mixed breeds, mutts as it were, but just as intelligent and eager to please their masters as their purebred counterparts.

Over the course the dogs jumped hurdles or crawled through them. The hardest part of the course consisted of climbing a set of steps to walk across a narrow wall before hurrying down another set of steps to run and then jump through a waist high round plastic hoop suspended from two ropes hanging diagonally from opposite poles. Clearing the hoop without making it move obviously ranked a perfect score among the judges.

When the top three dogs tied with identical scores the audience was asked to cheer for their favorites. The trainer/canine team with the most applause would win first place. A black Labrador mix with four white feet, aptly named Sox, was the crowd favorite earning the dog and his owner the first place trophy and a huge blue ribbon.

Harold and John were probably the loudest in the crowd to applaud Sox’s win and also laughed when an excited Bear barked his approval too. Reese had kept a wary eye on their dog as the proceedings commenced. Bear had trembled with excitement, watching and listening to what was going on in the makeshift obstacle course, but not once had he tried to move from Harold’s side. Bear never appeared frightened of or aggressive towards the other dogs competing or the ones among the crowd of onlookers either sitting or walking alongside their masters.

Reese was feeling relaxed enough to throw his arms across Harold’s shoulders during the intermission before the next round of competition. Harold turned to look incredulously when John leaned over and said confidently, “You and Bear could have won that trophy hands down.”

Harold shook his head then waved a hand towards the now empty course, “I am hardly in their league John.”

Still his ego deflated just a little when John agreed, “No, you’re not.”

Reese then leaned in closer to look at Harold so intently Harold could actually feel it, “You and Bear here are in a league all your own. There hasn't been a day since you two came into my life that I haven’t felt extraordinarily special to be included in it.”

Harold sat there looking into John’s eyes the longest time ignoring everyone around. He reached out and caressed John’s face, “I’m the one who feels special, John.” And for what was definitely the first time in his entire life, Harold leaned in to initiate a kiss.

But this was still Harold Finch, thirty years of being afraid to display his emotions and affections in public did not disappear overnight, so he pulled back almost immediately. John though was still determined to show Harold things were different now and murmured, “It’s okay,” before pulling Harold back towards him to kiss Harold open mouthed.

Harold was tense at first of course, but John’s seeking tongue soon had Harold opening his mouth too. They both relaxed back into the folding chairs as much as the things would allow, each guilty of forgetting where they were, lost in the passion of one kiss. Only it wasn’t Bear this time responsible for interrupting them, it was a good-natured wolf whistle followed by, _**Get a room!,**_ that had them both pulling back guiltily.

John smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

John then tightened the arm he still had draped over Harold’s shoulder, pulled Harold closer while using his free hand to grasp one of Harold's to pull into his lap, and then announced loudly, “No! Not sorry!”

It was only a few minutes before the announcer gave the names of the contestants for the next round of competition.

John leaned forward a little in the chair.

The dogs now competing were mostly purebreds as opposed to the majority of Heinz 57s in the last competition. Also these dogs were worked through the obstacle course with not one word of spoken commands but hand signals and body motions.

Each handler seemed to be using a different set of signals but every dog aced the obstacle course with nearly identical perfect scores. The winner wasn’t determined by the crowd’s applause this time, each dog was given a test neither dog nor trainer knew until the moment they brought the dog back onto the course.

It was late into the afternoon when finally one dog passed all the challenges asked of him. The winner was oddly enough a Belgian shepherd, all black in color as opposed to Bear’s multi coloring.

When the proceedings were over they sat there waiting for the crowd to thin when John asked Harold what he thought of the last contest. Of course Harold replied how impressed he was; especially with the fact not any words of commands were used.

John then said, “Good. You and Bear can learn to be a team like them.”

Finch thought back to the manual that Reese had purchased at one of the booths. Harold believed at first there would be no way that he could master that level of training, but as John kept going on about how confident he was in both him and Bear, Harold found himself almost as excited as John was to begin this new training Monday morning.

Eventually the crowd thinned as much as a busy park could on a balmy Saturday late afternoon and they made their way back towards the Cherokee. Harold didn’t give it a second thought to put his arm around John’s back again as John covered Harold’s shoulders with his own arm. They walked that way all the way back to John’s Jeep.

Harold waited at the side of the vehicle as John went to open the back. Both men were shocked and looked around when Bear’s hair bristled on his back and the dog snarled. The dog relaxed almost as quickly as he had become alert and aggravated. Still John looked around, but he didn’t see anyone or anything to be wary of.

When they were all loaded up into the vehicle, John pulled it out of their parking spot merging in with the traffic heading in one direction. Once they were out of sight, a woman with longish brunette haired stepped back out of _The Boathouse_ , fingers with black polished nails jotted down the name on the signs.

When the three arrived back at the mansion John could tell Harold was reaching the end of his limits when instead of using the main rear entrance to the mansion Harold headed for his study entrance limping noticeably. When John started up steps leading to the veranda entrance of his own rooms, Harold turned to ask hopefully, “Would you care to sit in my study with me? I can have Simmons bring us sandwiches and drinks.”

John smiled and agreed. Bear was settled into his bed on the patio while Harold and John talked about their day on the couch. Simmons came in and got their order. Harold leaned against John’s chest. John was worried about his sweaty odor and said so to Harold.

Harold nuzzled John’s chest with his nose. “You smell musky yes, but like a clean sweat with old aftershave and manly pheromones. You smell good to me.”

John relaxed then. He put his arm around Harold. He said, “I love it here you know that right?”

Harold hummed a yes so John continued, “But I think I need to check on the house. The lawn and such as well as dust covers for the furniture.”

Again Harold hummed an affirmative. John started to hesitate, but figured Harold needed to understand. So John talked about Jessica’s plans for the yard, how she loved plants and growing things. How she used to bring in healing plants to her patients. That living and growing things helped people recover. That foliage produced oxygen, refreshing the stale hospital room air.

John talked about Jessica’s green thumb all the while until Simmons showed up with soup and sandwiches. John stood up to stretch and get to the four person card/game subbing as a dinner table tonight. That was when Simmons and John noticed that Harold wasn’t moving. Both taller men looked down at the shorter man. Harold was asleep, deep slumber with occasional snoring. Harold had conked out while John had droned on.

Patrick and John shared eye contact. Both of them had fond expressions and smiles on their faces. Harold was curling into a ball. He looked like a small child, all cuddly and warm. Pink cheeks and rosy lips opened to snuffle out a breath or saw out a snore. Harold was precious like this. Of course, neither observer said this out loud. They had their hardcore reputations to protect.

Also, Harold would not appreciate being coddled or cooed at they figured. John removed Harold’s glasses to place them on the side table then stretched Harold along the couch carefully. He supported Harold’s neck with a few throw pillows. He made certain Harold’s spine was straight and none of his clothes were binding or pinching. Patrick found a blanket and they both draped it over Harold’s form. John tucked the folds around his boyfriend.

Simmons approved and took his leave.

John ate a sandwich and slurped his soup until he was full. All the while he watched Harold sleep. It was peaceful and gave John a slight pang of longing. They had taken things slow, glacially slow. John was fine with it but he did miss snuggling against a warm body as he slept. Hopefully, both men would be comfortable enough to sleep together soon. Not just sex, but being vulnerable and unconscious together on a bed. It was the little domestic things John missed most. He wanted those things with Harold.

Finally, John gathered the dishes carrying them across the hall and through the dining room into the kitchen. Simmons was still cleaning up wiping down counters; Reese grabbed a bottle of flavored water from the refrigerator and bid him goodnight. He backtracked through the dining room and turned right to climb the hallway stairs to his own room. John downed half the water then stripped down to his shorts and a tee.

Sleep wasn’t coming so early in the evening. Harold was exhausted and John’s body was warm from the exertions of the day, but his mind was wandering. He was thinking about Harold down stairs. Warm and inviting, sweet and bashful Harold, but a man with an iron will. Harold was fearless for others, even a strange dog. Harold would defend and rage for anyone but himself. John’s mind drifted to that day they shared scars. Harold’s skin was mottled with surgical reminders but also brimming with life. Harold’s heat from his blush had radiated into John’s body. Everything about Harold just made John tingle all over if he ever thought about him hard enough.

Speaking of hard, John looked down at his cock which was surging up trying to split his boxers open. John’s libido had been put on hold for almost a year. Between the alcohol and the emotional trauma, John’s dick had deserted him for a while. In the last few weeks he had started waking up with morning wood. Now it seemed that the equipment was catching up to his heart. John circled his left hand around the hardness. He didn’t feel spongy or chubby. Thinking about Harold’s body had gotten John fully erect. Well, one worry had been dealt with; John could still get aroused by men.

John decided that a little personal time wasn’t too much to ask. He shucked off his shorts and pulled down the covers on the bed. He shimmied his bare ass onto the cool sheets. Instead of freezing his balls, John’s arousal spiked. The contrast between hot body and cold bed was amazing. John thought about slipping into bed with Harold. Finch would be all nervous, covered from head to toe in the sheets. It would be like a wedding night of old, almost like two virgins working out what to do.

John thought about his first night with Harold, it wasn’t dominated with getting off, but instead about bringing pleasure to his lover. John imagined all the ways he could touch Harold, all the moans and sighs Harold could make because John was loving him. John’s mind supplied the taste and sounds of Harold receiving pleasure and it was glorious.

Before he even registered what was happening, John was climaxing into his own hand. He had been unconsciously stroking himself to the idea of bringing Harold pleasure. Well, he thought as he used some tissues to clean up, I guess I am ready.

John smiled to himself as he sleepily climbed back into bed. He drowsed for bit, letting the lethargy and afterglow hum through him. Finally, John was asleep with a smile on his face.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if I made any giant errors describing Prospect Park.  
> I was only in Brooklyn twice in my entire life and what I saw of it  
> was from the cab of the eighteen wheeler I drove  
> and that was no where near any parks.
> 
> Root is the villain in this piece and hereafter
> 
> Oh if you need fanning after reading the closing paragraphs don't blame me lol


	15. Too Much Fresh Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too much fresh air and exercise isn't always a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold wakes up alone  
> This was not how he planned to spend the night!  
> If anything good resulted from Finch's ill-timed trip to la-la-land  
> it's that Harold knows he can step up to the plate when  
> he gets back into the game

****

 

If Finch were a cat he would have started purring when John covered his shoulders with an arm and hugged Harold to him. Harold was human though so he just hummed his pleasure instead. Hummed as he rested his ear over John’s heart, rubbing his cheek up and down several times over the taut nub centered in the defined pectoral muscle where Harold’s face was rested. Finch breathed in deeply once more of sweat and cologne mingled with the scent uniquely John Reese and sighed.

The comforting sound of the steady thump-thump of Reese’s heart under Finch’s ear combined with John’s body heat seeping into Harold’s battered hip soothing the aches resulting from the rigors of the day, lulled Harold under. Harold tried so hard to tell Reese that he was glad John loved it here, that the mansion was Reese’s home now too, but all Finch could get out was another mumbled, “Hmmmm.”

Finch tried to keep the heavy lids over his eyes open. He wanted to tell John he understood about Jessica, about John’s need to put some care back into the yard she had planted with so much compassion, not just to benefit her own family, but strangers she didn’t even know. Harold could sympathize with how much John had needed and cherished this wonderful woman. Even though they had never met, Harold loved her spirit through John. Finch wanted so much to offer his own green thumb to restore what that beautiful human being had started if John would allow it, only he was so...so tired.

Finch tried to turn to find a more comfortable position in the bed; the way he was laying now was getting uncomfortable. The feeling of falling brought him out of his sleep. Harold blinked a few times as he pushed the throw off onto the floor and sat up. Thankfully something woke him before he tumbled off onto the colorful Persian rug beneath the couch. Couch? Why was he asleep on his study’s sofa not in his bed?

Finch squinted his eyes and looked around the shadowed room illuminated only by the dimmed bulb from a single lamp. On the side table next to that lamp’s base is where Harold found his carefully folded glasses. He slipped them back on and looked out the French doors; Bear was snoozing peacefully in his bed on the patio. Bits and pieces of their arrival home earlier that evening became clearer as the fuzziness left his sleep addled mind.

Finch remembered feeling more tired than hungry after their long day to really want to eat much of anything and had headed for his study’s doors not the entrance into the main hallway of the mansion. When Reese had made for the steps leading to the veranda entrance of his own set of rooms, Harold had stopped him and invited John inside the study not wanting their day to end without so much as a brief kiss goodnight. So many times that day they had come close to taking their relationship further physically, Harold was going to make sure there were no human or canine interruptions, this time.

They had settled on the couch. Harold shut eyes, smiled blissfully and inhaled deeply of Reese’s scent still lingering on his own clothes. John had fretted about his body odor when Harold had snuggled against the man’s chest; John had smelled so damn good. Harold blushed slightly; he had thrown decorum out the window, rubbing against and inhaling deeply of John’s chest just to let the man know.

Reese had relaxed, content it seemed to have Harold snuggling close, and talked about how much he loved staying with Harold at the mansion. When John had started talking about Jessica, Harold hummed his agreement wanting to offer his help all the while thinking of how ready he was to sleep with the man that night.

Reese had spent the whole day showing Harold that he was now first in the man’s life and John didn’t care who knew about it. So how could Harold be jealous of a memory when John spoke of Jessica while holding him close? Harold had tried to let John know he understood completely.

Most of all he wanted to prove to John by inviting him into his bed that night that John was now first in his life too. Finch groaned while leaning his head back to stare vacantly at the ceiling. _Best intentions, right Harold?_ Only he had fallen asleep quicker than a child on the car ride home after visiting Disney World.

Finch looked at his watch. It was a little after two am; the clock on the fireplace mantle had read eight thirty when the two of them had settled on the couch. John had asked Patrick to bring them both soup and sandwiches along with two iced teas while Harold had tried to keep his eyes open. That was over five hours ago. John had no doubt eaten and was now sound asleep upstairs. The pang Harold felt right now was not just from being hungry; he would be climbing into his bed alone, again.

What bothered Harold even more was that after giving John what had amounted to a green light several times that day he had succumbed to exhaustion even while rubbing up against John’s chest like a human feline in heat. John was probably so exasperated he should have taken his dinner upstairs and let Harold sit there uncomfortably hunched over the arm of the couch.

But no, even as out of it as Harold had been, he had felt it when John had taken off his shoes, pulled the leather belt from around his waist—curling it up and placing it on the coffee table, made sure his neck was supported, then lifted his legs up on the couch. John had cared for him like a precious commodity instead.

Harold smiled devilishly. He would never tell anyone that for a split second he had barely opened his eyes and caught the moment when Patrick had helped John drape the throw over his sleeping form, both men with love of a different kind written on their masculine faces. No one would hear it from his lips that Simmons, the man with the emotional outpourings of a stone, had dared to show his devotion toward Harold.

Yet, it was John only who had been to one to tuck him in. And as the oblivion of deep sleep pulled him under for good Harold sensed without seeing that he was being watched. Safe. Protected. Loved. Wanted.

Finch pushed himself up off the sofa, with a grunted curse bent over and grabbed his shoes, snatched the belt off the coffee table, and shuffled into his bedroom in a huff. Harold didn’t actually slam the door closed once inside, but the thud-click the wood and latch made as he closed the door in exasperation echoed through the downstairs floor regardless. This was not how he wanted the night to end, passed out on a sofa, with John upstairs alone in his own bed.

Normally fastidious to a fault, Finch dropped his shoes on the floor next to the small table where he also tossed his belt, not caring when it unraveled and slid to the floor to land on top of the shoes. Harold wasn’t some hot-house flower that withered after being outside for a few hours, but that was exactly what had happened. Now here he was—alone—a floor away and maybe weeks more of waiting once again separating him from the person he had wanted to share his bed, his body with this night and every night for rest of his life.

Harold started to undress with a resigned shake of his head. As he reached up to undo the buttons of his polo his fingers retraced the path John’s fingers had made early Saturday morning. Harold ran a sole finger across his collarbone; he could almost feel John’s lips following the path they had made down Harold’s jaw and neck. Was he still feeling the lingering warmth where John had kissed him there, running those rough lips over the wiry springs of Harold’s chest hair before John followed the path upwards to kiss Harold once again open mouthed?

Finch shook his head still annoyed with himself that this was not happening tonight, John undressing him to look wantonly at what John had only touched without seeing.

Without thought to what he was doing, Harold finished undressing and caressed himself, as if it were John’s hands instead. When his dick twitched excitedly as he cupped his balls that were now heavy with semen, Harold dropped his hand embarrassed at his actions. Yet Finch felt relieved somehow, being ready mentally did not necessarily mean physically. No matter how much he wanted John or John wanted him or how alive he felt even being with the other man, his libido had been catatonic for years. To feel even a stirring….

Finch stepped under the silky caress of the soft water and closed his eyes, holding his head under the soft gentle mist. In the privacy of his bath and shower Harold let himself slip into his erotic fantasies once more. What would it be like to shower with John? Having those large, strong, and surprisingly gentle hands washing him? Harold slid a hand down his chest, belly, then through the curly thatch of pubic hair to encircle his cock with a thumb and forefinger. Harold stroked himself loosely several times tugging gently at the head on the down-stroke.

Of course reality sometimes picks the most inopportune times to burst your bubble and remind you, _‘You’re dreaming Harold. Are you really, really ready for the flesh and blood man?’_ Harold stepped back from the shower wall, wiped the water out of his eyes and turned the faucet knob to off.

Finch swiped back at his dampened hair, redirecting the water droplets that were trying to run down his face or into his eyes to look blankly at blue and white checker board patterned tiles in front of him.

As ready as he was to be intimate with John, as much as he was still upset with himself that he had ruined what could have been their first night together, Harold listened to the niggling in his ear. He really should have been more prepared. It was only weeks before meeting John that Harold had been weaned off the medications he needed to take to deal with losing Nathan and the ones helping him cope in the recovery of his physical injuries that he had been dosed with for the past two years. In that time Harold had never thought about sex, his ability to ever have physical intimacy again, nor had he cared if he ever did again.

He had felt the stirrings in his groin when John had kissed him, every time that day. Harold flinched thinking how a wolf whistle had saved him the embarrassment of dealing with an erection if the fit of his slacks didn’t hide the hard-on that shrank instantly as soon as he and John had pulled apart. Of course, with the sexual fantasies running through his mind his dick was responding. Only, would this be all that would happen with John?

Harold looked down at his half hard cock. Would it desert him when he needed it most? Harold wasn’t a young man anymore. Men his age who hadn’t spent two years dead from the waist down were using Viagra to aid in satisfying their lovers. Would Harold embarrass himself when a younger and more virile man like John made a move?

Here, alone Harold made the decision to find out one way or the other. Harold slicked his palm and fingers with the soft water droplets still clinging to his chest and took his cock in his hand. He stroked himself carefully until precum started oozing from the head. Harold moved to rub his thumb over the slit gathering his natural lubricant to slick his fingers and palm before grasping his ever more hardening cock.

Finch rocked his hips slowly, fucking into his slickened hand. He thought of John’s own larger hands with roughened palms and long thin fingers. Hands that were strong yet gentle. Reese could—would use those hands to fight for what and those he cared for. But, when using those hands to actually touch someone he cared for, John was extremely gentle. He would be careful with Harold, not wanting to hurt. John would be delicate with Harold’s body, but also curious. John would be childlike in his wonder. He would touch and explore Harold like the older man was a new discovery, a great find. The memory of John tracing the scars from his accident as if they made Harold precious not hideous validated these thoughts.

Harold had been with Nathan for over thirty years. They had known everything about each other, what worked and what didn’t. John had been with a woman for fifteen years. Would he want to fuck Harold? That idea caused a spurt of lubricating pre-ejaculate. Harold had loved to take his lover inside him. He felt safe and cared for with a large body draped over him. He felt desirable and wanted. Would John want that? Would Harold be unable to lift his legs properly? Would he be too damaged to really let John thrust hard and deep into him?

Those worries were there but Harold then thought of the number of weeks Reese had spent with him and Bear. No matter how badly either of them messed up especially when the difficulty was due to Harold's disability, John was always patient. Reese would find routines that worked better for Bear to assist. Harold's concerns eased, John would find a way to make sex work between to two of them.

Reese had a tender heart as big as he was. His strength, his skills, his size, and everything that made John look foreboding were only used when needed to protect those he loved. Harold thought then of John as a wolf. Snarling growls, dripping jaws, fangs bared, ready to rip to pieces anything threatening harm to its pups, yet the wolf was the gentlest of creatures caring and nurturing those same babies.

That protective streak was a mile wide in John Reese. Harold's body tingled with excitement thinking of all that muscle and danger coiled and at the ready, his to command. John would gladly use every ounce of courage and strength he owned to safeguard Harold and Bear.

The idea of John panting, his chest heaving, keeping all that power in check, not for fighting instead readying himself for Harold was intoxicating. The mental image was slicking Harold's fist with the slippery evidence of how hot that was to him. As Finch palmed himself tighter and stroked faster his cock became harder than he could ever remember. His ass clenched around the hollow feeling of blood rushing to his groin even without a hard dick nudging its way into him. Harold was swimming in a high sexual state. His ears were ringing and his eyes closed in bliss as he came hissing John’s name on his lips.

Finch gulped air through both open mouth and nose to catch his breath. He leaned with his back against the cooler tile seeking to lessen the warmth of his overheated body. Once he stopped feeling light headed he turned the shower back on. Harold lathered his entire body with his favorite soap thinking of tomorrow and scrubbed off the residue of a spectacular orgasm.

It seemed that Harold could still perform when given the right motivation.

Finch dressed in underwear under his nightclothes and then crawled into bed. It was too early to stay up and Harold had just enough of a snooze before to keep him awake. So, Harold lay in bed planning exactly how he was going to make it up to John for the unfortunate conclusion to their beautiful day together.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold makes amends  
> John's new family  
> An old friend visits  
> She's baaack!


	16. Sunday at the Reese House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday at the Reese house  
> Everyone pitches in cleaning house and yard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John worries for nothing  
> Couples share...everything, John  
> Everyone pitches in  
> Zoe speaks up

   ****

 

Reese woke up to voices coming up from the patio through the window. Before he had begun his alone time activities of the night before, he’d left it cracked open to get the pleasant breeze that had picked up during the evening. John rubbed his eyes then picked up his watch to look at the time. It was barely eight am, on a Sunday no less, but there was no mistaking the deep bass of Simmons voice answering the low tenor of Finch's. Of course Harold would be up, the man never slept in, especially after conking out before the sun was even down last night.

 _Well, I better shower and meet Harold for breakfast._ John got the impression that the meal would be outside if the drift in the conversation of the voices he heard were any indication. Reese wasn't sure how Harold would react to the decision he had made to spend time in the afternoons at his house instead of returning to the mansion after leaving _J &J_ for the day. The evenings were staying lighter longer now too; it was time he could spend outside fixing up the yard and tending to Jessica’s long neglected flower beds.

Reese had wanted to wait until Bear was out of the cast, the Malinois’ initial training with Harold completed, and this thing between him and Harold was on solid ground before staying away from the mansion at night, even if it was only temporary. Of course John would be there in the mornings to start the new training sessions with Bear and Harold helping the two learn hand signals instead of voice commands. John thought Harold would be okay if the rest of the time they spent together was put on hold for a few weeks. Only now after the way their day had ended would Harold understand John’s need to return to his and Jess’ house for what it was?

Reese was positive Finch was expecting more to happen than just falling asleep on the sofa in Harold’s study last night. Not counting their make out session in the park they had wanted to become physical twice yesterday. It might have been fortuitous the way the night had ended in that John had a chance to make sure the body was as willing as the spirit before the actual event. Only, what would Harold think about John wanting to just up and leave the mansion after making it his home for the past six weeks? Would Harold be hurt that John had decided so suddenly to this change, especially after Reese had been parading Harold around as John’s new love to the public? John sat up then put his head in his hands. _What if Harold thinks I’m leaving because after all the going slow and the ‘almost’s, I am fed up that we didn’t have sex last night?_ John rubbed his hands over his face and then held his hands as if in prayer, fingertips over his lips. _That’s exactly what I would think if our roles were reversed._

There wasn’t anything he could do to change things. John had been the happiest he had been in months, getting to know Harold and spending time with him in the evenings like they were an old married couple. Of course there was Bear; John wouldn’t regret a moment helping in the healing, re-training and re-socialization of the canine. Finch had saved Reese from the pain and sorrow he had been drowning in and John had clung to him like a lifeline.

So much so, even though John still loved his and Jess’ home with its wonderful memories, it was easier to stay away then risk being pulled back in that deep pool of sadness losing Jess and the baby had created. The past six weeks had done more to heal John’s soul than nine months of living like a hermit with only memories and booze for company. Maybe subconsciously John had stayed away to avoid the pain and maybe it was a sign he was ready to face it now. Realizing he had a responsibility to Jessica and to the life they shared to take care of their home. Let someone else live a happy life in it.

John needed to face the music now. The disappointment and hurt Reese expected to see on Harold’s face was going to break John’s heart. John showered and dressed quickly. He needed to do this quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Hopefully he can get this refurbishing done in a few weeks and Harold will have forgiven him and let him stay at the mansion once more. If not, John would camp out at the estate’s gate until Harold or Simmons let him in. Even if they called the police to have Reese hauled away, then John would keep coming back.

Finch was talking with Simmons still when John made his way down the veranda steps. Harold noticed the grim look on John’s face and the way Reese descended the stairs like he was a _‘dead man walking.’_ Finch excused Simmons and sent Bear with him to the kitchen for a treat.

Reese felt his heart drop to his toes, when Harold limped towards him, his hands outstretched, worry written all over his face. Concern made Harold’s voice tremble as he asked, “John! What’s wrong?” Reese grabbed one of Harold’s hands where they met, walked with him back over to the patio table, and then indicated Harold should sit. Harold’s voice really shook with worry this time, “John? What’s wrong? Please, tell me!” Reese reached across the table taking Harold’s hand again trying to ease his worry and then smiled weakly, “Nothing is wrong. Trust me?”

Harold looked in John’s eyes earnestly, “You know I do.”

John sucked in a breath of air then tried to explain what **was** bothering him, “I tried to tell you last night but…”

Harold stopped John before he could go on any further. “I know I fell asleep. I know that wasn’t how you or I wanted the evening to end. For that I apologize. Exhaustion may have hindered my ability to speak coherently but my hearing and mental faculties were still working. I heard you, I understand completely, and if you will let me—us, Patrick and I are coming with you after breakfast to help you get started on some spring cleaning.”

“While I can’t do the heavy work entailed—I’ve already contracted our landscapers to take care of what I am unable to do—I do have a green thumb of sorts, and can set to rights Jessica’s flower beds. As for my man Simmons, I dare you to just try and stop him from doing his Mario Andretti imitation running laps with our riding mower around your yard.” Harold paused with a hand wave and added, “As for the house itself, some of my old household staff jumped at the chance to earn extra cash coming to clean your house twice a week.”

John stared at Harold for a good minute incredulously. Finally, he shook his head and said, “I never expected you to take over maintenance on my house. It is my responsibility. I should be the one making things ready for a family I know who can make it the happy home Jess wanted it to be.”

Again Harold interrupted. “Have you forgotten? We are a couple now.” Harold looked John’s way with a mixture of hopefulness and determination, “What's mine is yours and what’s yours is mine. That includes each other’s burdens and responsibilities. If you think you need to be there every night until the house is ready then I will be right there with you. That’s what partners do.”

Reese wasn’t expecting this to happen. John shook his head in amazement then smiled in relief, “How did I ever find someone like you? Here I was, worried that you would think I was leaving because of how things ended last night, that I was **put out** that you didn’t ‘ _put out_ ’ and here you are just being the amazing man I fell in love with.”

Finch got up from the table pulling John’s hand to stand with him. Harold tipped up on his toes and kissed John briefly, “Thanks, I’m really not all that amazing, but I will do anything for the man I love.”

Bear came bounding out of the service entrance with Simmons following right behind. It was then Reese noticed Finch and Simmons were wearing matching coveralls. John tried to not laugh at the sight rather unsuccessfully.

Harold and Patrick tried to look put out by John’s laughter, with Harold snapping peevishly, “What? You think we dress like this for Sunday brunch?” Bear started barking and dancing around the three men as they all burst into hysterics. The guffaws died down to a few ridiculous chuckles, then shared grins between the two younger men, and Simmons snapped back into his rigid—politely aloof manservant personae. Finch grabbed John’s hands, Harold’s smile now a serious press of the lips, “Well John Reese, like it or not, you are stuck with us.”

Reese squeezed Harold’s hands and used them to pull Harold close, John voice cracked with emotion “Harold Finch, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” John leaned down and kissed Harold thoroughly before pulling back and hugging Harold to him, all the anxiety and fear melting away. Reese felt so lucky at that moment and silently thanked whatever—whoever had brought Harold into his life.

Harold and John sat down to breakfast to discuss who would be doing what. They couldn’t help but look amused when Simmons sat down at the table when invited to sit and join in the conversation. Patrick looked as if he expected the world to stop turning because he dared to sit down with his employer. Bear was included in their talks. He would need to learn to walk the neighborhood anyway. Running around a new yard would be good practice for verbal commands.

They loaded up the Jeep with gardening tools—Reese had never retrieved his from Shaw’s clinic after he used them for the makeshift litter—and John helped Simmons hook up the trailer the riding mower was loaded on to the Jeep’s trailer hitch. Reese was worried when Harold suggested they walk to John’s house. It was maybe 500 yards, a quarter mile as the crow flies from the mansion to his house, but the paved road wound for over a mile back down the hill. Harold clipped the leash to Bear's collar, slipped his arm through John’s, and started down the driveway, “It’s a lovely day for a walk, John.” Reese handed Simmons the keys to the Cherokee as they walked by him John shrugging his shoulders in confusion.

When they reached the end of the drive Harold led them across the road, towards the turn around, along black wrought iron fencing, and to a gate John had never noticed before. As Finch inserted a key into the gate’s built in lock, John looked beyond to see a footpath that led down the hill. Answering John’s unspoken question as they started walking down the gradual decline, Finch waved his hand to point out, “This path was here when we bought the property years ago. When I needed to start walking for my physical therapy, I had the area fenced off, the overgrowth cleared, and the path redone to a gradual decline or incline I could manage. I haven’t walked here in weeks; training with Bear here has been exercise enough.”

The natural habitat was beautiful. Bear would get excited, but not try to run when the trio startled a squirrel or rabbit out of hiding. It really took no time at all before they reached another gate in the fence, an exact duplicate to the one at the top. This one exited almost opposite of Reese’s driveway. John stopped them a moment before they crossed the road. He knelt to ruffle Bear’s ears and looked up at Harold pensively, “We were so close to one another and yet so far away. If not for this guy we may have never met.”

Harold bent slightly and patted the dog’s side before he gripped John’s shoulder, “Yet, we did. We’re together now.” Harold removed his hand and straightened to look across the street, “Oh good. They’re here.”

Simmons had already stacked the tools next to the fence and unloaded the mower from the trailer when John and Harold walked over to the Jeep. A two person crew was unloading a van from a local nursery that was full of plants, soil, fertilizer, mulch, and bags of garden gravel. Reese watched the crew for a minute then looked at Finch. Harold gave him a _‘don’t say anything look’_ , “I told you what’s mine is yours. That includes purchases from a nursery.”

Simmons reached into the back of the Jeep to hand John a pair of coveralls too. He looked John up and down, “They may be a little short in the legs, but the rest will fit fine.” Reese had a pair of worn jeans and a tee shirt inside he had planned to change into, but put the coveralls on instead appreciative of the man’s gesture.

Simmons looked over the yard then, “I’ll need to clear the lawn of fallen branches and accumulated debris before I can start mowing. Looks like I’ll need to go over it twice with the mower then. Where do you want me to dump the clippings? Your bin for lawn waste or do you have a compost pile started somewhere?” Jessica had started one, but as John didn’t plan nor know how to keep it going he told Simmons the yard waste bin.

Harold caught John’s confused look and suggested that his yard care challenged boyfriend start inside the house while Simmons mowed and Harold took care of the neglected flower beds. Reese thought it prudent he do that as quickly as possible when Harold groaned as he looked at the state of the first flower bed. When Harold knelt to start pulling the jungle of weeds trying to choke out the few surviving flowers while mumbling under his breath and shaking his head, John headed up the steps and into the house as fast as his tall legs could take him without actually running.

John started in the kitchen. His messes weren’t that big, but the fridge needed to be emptied and the dishes were dusty. He finished that area then started in the living room. He opened all the windows in the house to air the place out. He dusted and straightened up where needed. Vacuuming was the most time consuming.

He was about to tackle the bedrooms when he heard a knock on the door. He went to see if Harold needed something but when he opened the door it was Zoe Morgan. She was dressed in her usual uptown business casual. The woman didn't own a pair of jeans or a sundress. John let her inside and asked what she was doing there.

Zoe looked around the house as if she had never been there before; running her hand over a dusty curio cabinet then smiled tight lipped, “I heard some interesting things around town. I thought I’d give you a few days to call me, but you never did. So, I figured dropping by unannounced would give me a chance to see how you really live. This way you can’t give me some cock and bull story.”

Zoe walked to the front window to peer through the open blinds. She watched Simmons carry over flats of flowers of different colors and types to set them next to the tiered flower bed in the middle of the yard. Harold was fussily organizing and reorganizing how he wanted the transplanted flowers to be arranged. Zoe watched the dog happily trotting around the yard then run over next to Harold to do the canine’s version of weed pulling. Bear would try to catch the weeds Harold tossed into the pile. He would taste one and realize they were yucky then he would prance around trying to get the taste out of his mouth. Only to start the whole game over again when a new root was pulled up and tossed into the pile.

Reese walked over to stand next to Zoe curious what she was looking at. Of course John’s eyes were drawn to Harold’s backside. Finch was on his knees bent down to pull weeds from the lowest tier of the flower bed. Whenever he would grab one of the interlopers, Harold would brace a hand against the landscape timber and yank the weed out of the soil. John watched Harold’s rump bounce right to left as he searched for and pulled each unwanted growth.

Bear was just inside John’s range of vision; the dog looked to be playing but Reese could see the dog was on alert. Anytime a car drove by on the street the Malinois would stop, focus on the vehicle—his ears perking up, and then move closer towards Finch in a protective stance. Harold didn’t seem to notice Bear’s change in behavior since his bottom continued to bounce along with his work.

Maybe it was a change in the wind—something in the air didn’t smell right—when Bear started growling low and mean that made Finch take notice. Harold soothed him for a bit until the dog whimpered, hiding his face in Harold’s chest. John thought he might need to go out and see what happened when he finally realized that Zoe wasn’t looking at the yard anymore. She was looking at John’s face while he watched the goings on. Reese shrugged and moved away, embarrassed.

Ms. Morgan took one last look at Harold as Simmons walked from the car to hand him a bottle of sunscreen and wide brimmed hat. Bear sought some attention from Simmons, the dog was calm now that whatever had spooked him was gone. Zoe didn’t appear to be angered by what she had seen, more like a bratty child who found something to tease a sibling about mercilessly. She leaned a hip against the wall and grinned mischievously, “ **Well John. Is** there anything new and exciting happening in your neck of the woods?”

Reese knew Zoe Morgan. She was like a dog with a bone and wouldn’t let it go but John deflected her question anyways, “You came by to check on me, your promise to Jess and all? You’ve come to make sure I haven’t died of cardiac arrest from all the _Hot Pockets_ I’ve been eating?”

“That’s not funny!” Zoe huffed, annoyed now. “I did come here to check up on you, make sure you are healthy, of course. I also came here to smack you a good one.” And that is exactly what Zoe did when she grabbed a throw pillow off the chair Reese was standing next to and whacked him on the side of the head.

There was no teasing left in her voice as she let him have it verbally too. “I thought I was your friend, but do I get a text even that you’re not staying here anymore? That you are now dating someone? I had to snoop around like some private detective to find out what’s going on with you after a hundred of my phone messages went unanswered. I called your cell phone, your office, here. Do I get a call back? No! I thought I’d have to call an intervention of all your friends to pull you out of a bottle. You want to know how I found out you were okay? I go in to see a client and hear about a newspaper article with Nathan Ingram’s widower and some boy toy. How surprised was I to see you standing next to him?”

John’s eyes widened, “What? They posted a picture of Harold?”

Zoe nodded and pulled a newspaper section out of her purse and handed it to him. It was folded to the society page. There big as life was Harold sitting next to John watching the dog-show. The headline screamed _‘Reclusive Billionaire Spotted for the First Time in 30 Years.’_

The article went on to describe John as a local business owner. It didn't say anything about linking them as a couple. Thankfully the picture used wasn’t of them kissing. If you didn't know Harold or John then you would think they were just two men sitting together for the first time. But Zoe had known John for decades. She didn’t need to read the article that hinted the widower’s handsome young companion was more interested in the billionaire than the competition. She only needed to look at the photo to see the possessive satisfaction in every line of John’s body. She knew what this casual looking moment really meant.

He looked over at her and apologized, “We hadn't really gotten serious until a few days ago. Honest Zoe, we aren't even sleeping together.”

She yanked the paper out of his hand and smacked him on the forehead with it. “All right cut the bull crap, John! You’re serious enough to have moved in with him weeks ago. If you’re not sleeping together yet, it’s not because you don’t want to.”

She tossed the paper on the couch and sat down with an exasperated sigh, “John Fitzpatrick Reese, I know better than anyone how you act when you’re in love. I know what lust looks like on your face. And the way you look at Harold out there is love. Don’t try to sell me the Brooklyn Bridge because I ain’t buying. You have a **dog** together, John.”

She laid her head back in tired resignation. “What I can’t understand is why you felt the need to hide it from me of all people.”

John sat next to her, picking up the paper, and holding it in his hands. He was quiet for a bit, just staring at the printed proof of everything he had been feeling these last few weeks. Finally, he whispered, “You are the one person who kept me grounded in some kind of reality after I lost Jess. I was afraid if I said something to you the spell would be broken, that all of this was just a hallucination from grief. That I had lost my mind, going mad with sorrow and conjured up the perfect boyfriend.”

Reese had to clear his throat trying to choke back his emotions and fears, before he continued, “Telling you would have made it real. But it couldn't be real. I can’t be so lucky as to have Jimmy, then Jessica, and now Harold.” He looked over at one of his oldest friends, tears were pooling at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t think I deserve any of this.”

The notoriously hard Zoe Morgan pulled John over to give a quick hug, patting him on the back. She sniffed and sat back to grab a Kleenex from a box on John’s coffee table. She dabbed at her eyes then stood. Zoe walked to the door, checked her makeup in a mirror hanging on a wall, then turned to eye John, “I have an appointment or I’d stay longer. You better keep me up to date on your boyfriend out there, once a week, you hear?” Zoe then wagged a warning finger at him, “You need to close the deal on this. Or someone else may steal him away from you. The way you were looking at his ass is criminal in twelve states. Get back on that horse.”

As pointless as it was, knowing Finch reads that section, Reese hid the newspaper article under some old magazines, and got up to walk Zoe outside. They stood on the steps while Zoe fetched her keys from her purse. Simmons was carrying more flats of flowers over to where Harold was still transplanting. Zoe raised an eyebrow watching the stone-faced Patrick carry the flowers like they were made of delicate glass. Zoe leaned close to John, whispering, “Who’s the hunk and is he taken?

John looked at Simmons then at Zoe like she was the one that had taken a blow to the head and not from a pillow, “He’s Harold’s manservant, name’s Simmons. Knock yourself out.”

Zoe pecked John on the cheek then patted him on the chest and winked, “I plan on it”, and then she hurried to her car waving at everyone.

Harold waved back, stopping his work to watch Ms. Morgan walk up to Simmons and put a business card in Patrick’s coverall pocket, her “Call me!” and her flirtatious laughter wafted across the yard. Harold wished he had his cell phone just then; a picture of the unflappable Patrick Simmons totally flabbergasted would have been worth a thousand words.

Finch took off his gardening gloves and tried to stand. John was down the steps and across the lawn where Harold was kneeling in three long strides to help. When Harold looked up at John to thank him, Harold noticed John’s long lashes were still damp with tears. The angry little bird John opened his door to that first night glared at Zoe’s car as she was now backing it out of the drive and Harold bristled, “What did that woman do? Did she upset you?”

John smiled and shook his head, “No. She was just being a friend. How about you take a break?” John winked and rubbed Harold’s back, “I might want you to be able to move when we get home tonight. I have some of that ready mix iced tea you love so much. I’ll fix you some.”

Harold shivered at the thought of drinking that horrible stuff, but nodded okay anyways, told Bear to come and they made their way into the house. John had Harold’s elbow guiding them into the cooler interior.

Neither man saw the car parked across the street with the brunette inside. Her black nails clutched at a camera with a telescoping lens. She had been watching the house for some time. She observed the fussy little fag weeding another man’s yard. She saw the gorgeous Zoe Morgan and the handsome John Reese hide away into the house while the desperate homo worked. What did that Harold Finch think was going to happen? Did he believe that cleaning the house and yard that was shared by Reese and his late wife would somehow get Finch into a straight man’s pants? It was pathetic, but it could be useful.

The woman also noticed the Malinois. The mutt was looking better than she had ever seen it. It would be a shame to destroy such a useful creature. However, the only evidence against her was seventy-five pounds of DNA and hair. No one would think twice of man and dog going missing. Especially if they thought Harold was some love sick gay man pining over a straight one. It was almost too easy for Root. She would lure the dog and gimp away, kill them and make it look like suicide. Who cares if an old queen offed himself?

Thankfully, she had missed the couple's personal displays of affection at the dog show. Root still wondered why Reese was putting on an act and her warped mind could only deduce it had something to do with the fag being loaded and John Reese needing a sugar daddy.

No matter, Root drove away with visions of dollar signs and tropical vacations in her head. Get rid of the queer and the dog she wouldn’t need a sugar daddy of her own, it would be business as usual for her.

Little did she know that she was making assumptions which would lead to her downfall.

 ****~~*~~ **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no idea where we go next...


	17. Almost But Not Quite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost but not quite, the spirit is willing but the body is weak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might be considered explicit  
> Sunday evening aches and pains  
> a soak in the Jacuzzi gets steamy  
> and its not from the sauna.  
> It sucks being old

****

 

Harold ended up drinking the entire contents of an extremely large, tall tumbler of instant tea mix along with helping John finish off a box of snack crackers and a can of spray cheese John had found in the cupboards. They sat in companionable silence at the kitchen table while watching out the window as Simmons cleaned up then started mowing the house’s back yard. There was no way Patrick could see through the window into the house during broad daylight even if the man were to look that way. Still, John had to hide a grin under his hand every time Simmons turned a mowing circuit that had him facing the direction of the house and Harold would lean back as if to hide what he was eating and drinking from his servant's sight. Reese didn’t know what he thought was more comical—Harold acting like a kid sneaking candy between meals who was afraid of getting caught or the image of Simmons finding out his employer had eaten something as lowbrow as snack crackers and spray cheese.

Harold caught John’s last grin before Reese could hide it, shoved the incriminating evidence John’s way, before scrabbling to bring up the first topic that came to mind, “You assured me that Ms. Morgan was here as a friend and I will trust you on that; your eyes were damp from tears of joy. One thing I cannot understand for the life of me is why being your friend included that woman putting the moves on Patrick. I was afraid he was going to have a coronary. Good lord, he is old enough to be her father.”

Reese looked thoroughly confused why Harold would assume Zoe being John’s friend would have anything to do with what Zoe Morgan decided to go after, then threw back his head and laughed, “Zoe is my friend and once you two get to know one another she’ll be your friend too. Just let me give you some words of advice for when that happens. Never, ever, try to stand in the way of what that woman wants. She’s got her eye on Patrick Simmons and Zoe won’t give up until she gets him. Best we can do is just hope that Simmons can handle her.”

Harold looked scandalized just thinking about it before he stood up. “Thanks for the drink, John. I guess I should get back to work.” John went outside with Harold when trying to convince him to stay inside longer went for naught. He really was at a loss at what to do to help Harold transplanting and turned to go back into the house.

Simmons had finished and was in the process of loading the riding mower on the back of the trailer. John watched out the window a few more minutes ready to jog out to give Simmons a hand if it looked like he needed it. Reese turned away from the window to get back to his chores seeing that Simmons managed fine on his own and John wasn’t needed outside for anything. The manservant had pulled two bottled waters out of a cooler strapped to the trailer and walked over to offer Harold one. The two men had talked briefly as Simmons drank and Finch set his bottle next to the flower bed. Patrick and Harold seemed to decide to do tag team work on the rest of the flower beds now that Simmons was done mowing.

Reese’s bedroom only needed some dusting and vacuuming. The bed had been stripped and the bedding laundered weeks ago. The closet and dressers were emptied of most of John’s clothing, what was left could be tossed out. The only items left of any importance in the room were Jessica's. John picked up the picture of Jess that still sat on the nightstand and traced a finger over her smile, “You wanted this house full of love and happiness with children running around everywhere. And it will be honey. But I have to move on for that to happen.” John set the picture down and texted Zoe. _I’m ready for you to pick up Jessica’s things, you still have a key?_

Almost in a blink of an eye she texted back.  _Yes. I’ll be there tomorrow in the morning. Jessica would understand._

John gathered the things he wanted to keep and piled them on the mattress.

Reese was carrying some empty plastic totes from the garage into the living room that he planned to pack with Jess’s things he wanted to keep along with pictures and memorabilia he didn’t want to include in renting the house out furnished, when Harold cracked open the front door to ask if it was okay to come in.

Harold jumped a bit when John dropped the totes and tried to apologize to John, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

John stepped over the totes to pull Harold all the way inside. With one hand John reached over Harold's shoulder to shove the door closed, the other he clutched at Harold’s arm. John shook his head, “I didn’t drop those things because you scared me, I dropped them because I’m a little annoyed with you.” John leaned down to kiss Harold’s confused forehead then stood back and looked down, “What’s mine is yours, remember? Don’t you think you have to ask me to come in  **your**  house ever again, understand?”

When Harold nodded, John smiled and asked, “Is there something you needed. Something to drink? I have more tea.”

Harold smiled even though he was trying for grimace at the offer of more tea, “No, I think I can wait. Patrick has returned to the mansion along with Bear. I thought it best that he feed Bear and let him remain at the mansion. Patrick is going to return with something to hold us over until we finish up here. The yard is done except for what the landscapers and the tree service are more equipped to do. So after we eat the two of us are now at your disposal for housekeeping duty.”

While they waited on Simmons, John opened a tote, dusted some pictures he took from the wall before putting them in and explained he was storing these along with other personal items. Harold stood up from the chair he had been relaxing in and grabbed the cloth from John’s hands, “You are doing no such thing. Bring them to the mansion, we’ll find a place for these things there. The mansion is  **our**  home,  **our**  cherished memories should fill it; yours too, not just mine alone.”

John hugged Harold to him just as there was a honk outside. Simmons had returned and Reese ran out to help carry in the food and drinks. The three ate and then tackled the rest of the house. John just shrugged when Simmons tsked at John’s version of housecleaning and set to making the inside spotless.

Finch helped in packing up the precious mementos that were now heading to the mansion to be displayed, with the exception of what was in the nursery. Harold respected John’s need to handle that room on his own. When the three headed back to the mansion, Reese’s house was ready for its new family, the only thing left to be done was for John to return Monday to pack up the baby's things.

 ***

Simmons parked the Jeep next to John’s truck, both having stalls now in the mansion’s garage. Patrick handed Reese the keys then hurried off to start dinner. John and Harold followed behind but instead of going inside right away sat down at the patio table to get their welcome home from Bear. The poor thing acted like he had been separated from Harold for four days instead of four hours.

John didn’t mention it, but he noticed Harold trying to hide a flinch or stifle a groan when Bear got a little over exuberant at times causing Harold to move too quickly or the wrong way.

Reese sent the dog to his bed and asked Harold if he felt more like relaxing in the living room and watching a movie or something while they waited on dinner. “I don’t know about you but right about now that heavenly cloud you call a sofa sounds a hell of a lot more comfortable than my butt feels right now sitting on wrought iron chairs.”

John caught the look of relief that passed quickly in Harold’s eyes before the older man turned sly. “Well, if you can’t take it then I guess I could join you in the living room.”

Reese casually flung an arm over Harold’s shoulders as they made their way to the huge sunken living room only removing it when John needed to open a door. If Finch wanted to refuse John’s unspoken offer to lean against him that was fine, only Harold slid his arm behind John’s back knowing it was given without censure.

Reese walked over to the entertainment console to swing open the doors that hid the widescreen TV behind them his back to the sofa that Harold gingerly eased himself onto. John turned around pretending he didn’t hear Harold’s sigh as he settled himself and held up a DVD movie case, “One of yours, something from a movie channel, or one of the new releases on PPV?”

Harold put his elbow on the sofa arm and rested the side of his face on his hand, “As I recall I chose the movie last time, I do believe it’s your turn to choose.”

Reese walked to the coffee table and grabbed the remote as he dropped onto the sofa next to Harold then started flipping through the channels until he found an old who-dun-it. John draped an arm across the back of the couch and let it slide down lower as Harold leaned into his side. Harold tried to watch the movie, jerking his head up when he felt himself nodding off, but exhaustion won eventually. John let the movie play on although he wasn’t paying attention. Every so often he would kiss Harold’s spiky hair and whisper, “I love you.” Then John would rest his head against Harold’s and just listen to Harold softly snore as he dozed.

Once Simmons announced dinner Harold startled awake. He groaned piteously, unable to stifle the grunt. John helped him up with his own moan. “Yeah, spring cleaning ain’t for sissies. I am hurting in places I didn’t even know I had to hurt.”

Harold tried to smile but it came out a grimace. Patrick looked like he was doing some kind of strange dance move—reaching out, moving forward, then dropping his hands and stepping back. It was obvious that Simmons wanted to assist his employer, but also wished to preserve Harold’s dignity.

Finally, Harold patted John’s hand gratefully then they started their painful and slow progress to the dining room. Before sitting down with John’s strength helping him, Harold asked for some over the counter pain meds that would help with inflammation. Simmons nearly sprinted out the door. John sat and the room echoed with the popping of his knees.

Harold eyes rounded in surprise, he was used to his body’s cracking and popping, but never expected those sounds coming from John’s, especially with the man’s physique. Simmons brought in a bottle of ibuprofen along with a pitcher of water. Harold filled his glass, then opened the bottle and shook two capsules into his hand. He handed the bottle to John offering them with an almost straight face, “I do believe these are recommended to relieve pain and inflammation even in those places that have never needed relief before.”

Tonight Simmons served roasted beef and whole new potatoes along with pearl onions, peas, tiny baby carrots in a rich gravy. John was glad to see Harold eat even though at times it seemed that it hurt to even lift his fork. Of course John pretended not to eat with his habitual exuberance so Harold noticed that.

The dinner conversation lacked their usual enthusiasm as well except when Harold was once again insistent that John's precious keepsakes would find places throughout the mansion not just in John’s suite alone. John reached across the table to grab Harold’s hand to thank Finch once again for everything Harold and Simmons had done for him today. “If I had tried to be stubborn and do everything on my own, my knees would have been doing more than popping on me. I only did a fraction of the work you did and I can barely move now.”

John thought he stretched the truth some, but after all Harold had done today it was only right that Harold not feel he had to prove something.

Harold squeezed John’s hand back, “Like I said, I will do anything for the person I love. But it seems we both have overextended ourselves doing things for love. I had a sauna and Jacuzzi installed after I began my physical therapy. It helped me immensely on those days I pushed myself too hard. I think some time in the Jacuzzi will do us both some good, if you would care to join me?

Reese had a party-size Jacuzzi in his own suite, he could use the one upstairs for the therapeutic benefits and Harold knew that. A jolt shot straight to John’s libido at the implication of what Harold’s ‘do us both some good’ had really meant. John wasn’t one to blush, but he was sure his ears were as red as Harold’s when the other man noticed the moment John had understood.

Finch held John’s hand loosely as he led them back across the hall into the huge studio. They retraced the steps John had made the night before after Harold had crashed on the sofa.

As John had watched Harold sleep he’d also had a chance to look around what was Finch’s sanctuary—beautifully colored rugs covered polished wood floors, the furniture grouping faced a huge fireplace, chairs for reading were arranged by the window overlooking the front lawn and gardens, floor to ceiling bookcases covered every wall, and an office nook contained an oak desk along with a matching wood and lambskin desk chair.

There was a door off the recessed area John had assumed opened into Harold’s bedroom but he had somehow failed to notice a door almost camouflaged among the bookcases on the wall with the fireplace. That was the door Harold opened, allowing them to enter what was a small physical therapy room with a padded bench, rolled up mats, various small weights stored in racks hanging from the wall and another window overlooking the front grounds.

Harold stopped, letting go of John’s hand just long enough to look around the room, “I haven’t used a personal trainer in months, but I still do the exercises on my own.” Harold turned to look up into John’s curious eyes with some embarrassment, “I don’t know why I tried to hide from you the fact that I sneak in here after I get home from work or after you have retired for the night to do them.”

Reese understood that no matter how mentally prepared you are sometimes it’s just hard to show imperfections to a loved one. Jess had seen his scars many times over through the years they had been together, but one day after it dawned on him that he was in love with her there was a night he had felt anxious to let her see the blemishes on his body. How must Harold feel with his battered body and many scars? No matter how much John had tried to prove none of that mattered it still did until it didn’t.

John looked down and replied as if he’d been given a wonderful gift, “You were trying to buff up to surprise me? I am flattered.” John made a move like he was going to pull Harold to him for an embrace then moaned and looked around, “I just wished you had let me join you, maybe I wouldn’t be in the sad shape I am now. You mentioned a sauna and Jacuzzi? I don’t see one in here.”

Harold grabbed John’s hand again and nodded to another door, “Of course not. The sauna room is through that door.” It was only a few steps from where they were standing but Harold held tight to John’s hand like they might become separated any moment until he had to drop it once again to let John go through the door first.

John followed Harold’s lead and kicked off his shoes too after they had entered the floor to ceiling ceramic tiled room. Harold adjusted the controls in a plastic box next to the door; the Jacuzzi basin started to fill with water, steam started coming from small metal vents three inches off the floor dispersed around the room and two fans started turning in the ceiling.

The sauna was about the same size as the bathroom in John’s suite only the Jacuzzi was smaller and there were two polished wood benches on adjacent sides of the room. An open shower for rinsing before entering the tub was in a corner of the room. Harold picked up his shoes then hobbled the few steps in stocking feet to one of the benches. Lying on one end of the bench was a folded towel, a clean set of swim briefs on top of it. A terrycloth robe hung from one of the set of ceramic hooks in the wall, an empty garment bag meant to keep street clothes protected hung from the other.

Harold looked down and grinned, “I think Simmons planned for something like this weeks ago. These things appeared on the bench the day after we brought Bear home. Anyways everything should fit.” Harold gestured to another door then turned, “I’ll let you have some privacy to change. I’ll be changing in my room.” With that Harold gave John a meaningful look and exited the room.

John couldn’t have cared less if Harold sat down on the bench and watched him strip. In fact, imagining that scenario made the blood rush to his groin. Only John knew that Harold was feeling the same anxiety he himself had experienced with Jess.

He stripped out of his street clothes, hung them in the garment bag, dropped his boxers stuffing them in the bottom then zipped it up. The swim briefs were just that, brief. He’d worn underwear with more material, but there was one definite benefit, the outline of his semi flaccid cock was most noticeably visible, not leaving much to the imagination. John rinsed himself in the shower, with the fabric wet there was nothing left to imagine.

Reese reached for the robe then changed his mind. He had jumped from that plane once. John wasn’t afraid to let the person who loved him see what his body looked like, the good as well as the bad. Instead he sat down, stretched out his long bare legs, and rested his head against the tile. The room was growing warmer; his aches from the day, even as minor as they were, started to ease. It felt good.

Reese had closed his eyes. Harold’s clearing of his throat had John snapping them open again and leaping to his feet. Harold was standing almost in front of him; dressed in a robe like the one John had left hanging on the hook. Harold’s face looked so different without his glasses, although it made him even more handsome John thought. Those watery blue eyes appeared hesitant even shy.

Harold’s working his lip nervously along with his hands fumbling with the knot of the robe’s belt were telltale signs how uncertain he was how John was going to react now that the moment had actually arrived to bare his scarred body in front of his lover.

John took each of Harold's hands and placed them on the healed battle wounds crisscrossing his own body. Harold’s gaze changed from apprehensive to hungry as he was able to touch and view John’s body. Those blue eyes appraised the long legs, smooth muscular chest, and the package jutting out obscenely in the almost see through material of the swimwear—especially the bulge.

Reese could see Harold swallowing hard as he stared at John’s crotch. He used a hand to catch Harold under the chin to make him look up, “I was thinking about you.”

Harold’s dropped his hands and smiled timidly when John reached to untie the robe’s belt. John said softly and earnestly, “I trusted you to see my body, the healed marks of my wounds and I know you still want me. Trust me now? Trust me that I’m still going to want you as much as you can see that I do right now?”

Reese pushed the robe off Harold’s shoulders once the belt was undone, as carefully as one would to reveal the contents of a precious present. John could feel Harold’s body trembling under his hand, but Harold didn’t make a move to stop him. Once John completely freed Harold of the robe he tossed it in the direction of the bench where it barely caught, most of it hanging down on the floor.

John stepped back; his eyes teared as he viewed Harold’s near naked body for the first time. Graying brown hair matted down his chest and stomach. Its vee shape started below the navel and pointed down until it drifted below the waistband of the knee length swim trunks. Thick hair also covered pale legs and forearms. But, the thickness of the body hair failed to hide the web of scarring that ran the length of Harold's right side. It ran from just below the hairline on his neck to the bottom of the calf of his right leg. The web varied from white lines, thin as a thread in an actual spider’s web, to colored lines of various widths ranging from faded pink to angry purplish red. The trunks did nothing to hide the shape of a disfigured hip and upper thigh like the tailored slacks Harold always wore. John could now see the thinning of the right leg as it atrophied and its foot lamed.

Tears started to run down John’s cheeks as he viewed the broken body and all he could think of was how brave this man was to have even survived let alone walk with a limp. That someone with the big, beautiful, and brave heart that Harold possessed had fallen in love with him. John reached out to caress Harold’s expectant face with his left hand, the right hand he reverently ran up and down Harold’s right side, “You're beautiful. All this only makes me want you more.”

Harold sagged with obvious relief into John’s waiting arms. His grunt of discomfort when John held him tighter reminded them both why they were in the room. “You first!” John chuckled. Harold returned the laugh then used the special ledges and handholds to lower himself into the Jacuzzi basin.

John followed after turning the jets on, sliding behind Harold so that he was sitting in the vee of John’s legs. That allowed access to Harold’s back where John could carefully massage the neck and shoulders while his lips could apply kisses following the trail where his hands tenderly touched the puckered ridges residing there. Every so often John would thrust his hips just so Harold could feel John’s hardness pressing into his backside.

When John was done treasuring Harold’s back and neck he pulled Harold to his chest and slid both their bodies lower so only their heads were above the bubbling water of the Jacuzzi. John couldn’t worship Harold's front with tender kisses, but he did rub his left hand in a circular pattern through the chest hair stopping to pinch and tweak a pink nipple along the way. The right hand massaged Harold's damaged hip and thigh.

John would rock his hips up in rhythm with his hands until Harold's moans and gasps were purely of pleasure. Without even thinking about it, John moved his hand from Harold’s hip to slide it under the waistband of his trunks. He had expected Harold to be on the average size or maybe smaller due to his stature. However, the weight and girth of Harold's cock was almost porn sized, possibly over eight inches long if he was fully hard. John revered in the feel of that shaft in his fist, stroking it up and down now in time with his thrusts.

Harold’s moans of bliss and excitement ended when he threw his back against John’s chest begging, “Stop. Please stop! Get me out of here and into my bed. I need you to fuck me. Now!”

Harold was so far gone, delirious almost, with wanting John inside him while John’s focus was zeroed in on giving Harold just that, it was a small miracle they made it out of the Jacuzzi without causing severe bodily injury to themselves. Reese had even managed to let go of Harold long enough to turn the controls for everything to off.

Harold had opened the door to enter what John could see was Harold’s private bath and beckoned Reese to follow. John then shimmied off his wet swim briefs all the while watching Harold undo the string tie to his own swim trunks letting them drop, pooling at his feet.

Reese blinked at the sight when for the first time he was able to look at what he had been groping minutes earlier. John unconsciously licked his lips as an image flitted briefly through his mind of wrapping his mouth over the head of Harold’s cock. But, that was about his wants not what Harold needed right now. So, John scooped Harold up to carry him into the bedroom and deposit him on Harold’s huge bed. John helped Harold get settled before he lay down next to him.

There was nothing more at that moment that John wanted to do but sink his dick into Harold’s heat. Only it had been years since he and Jimmy had had intercourse. John needed to take things slow, to prepare Harold to accept him and also to take his time because it had been so long since he had fucked a man. John couldn’t, wouldn’t hurt Harold because they were both trying to rush things.

Harold let John slowly worship him with loving caresses and gentle kisses, running his hands up and down John’s back, whimpering when John would reach between them and stroke Harold’s hardening length. Harold grabbed John’s arm begging again, “I’m want to come on your cock inside me.”  

John shushed Harold, “You will! I just don’t want to hurt you. I need to get you ready. Do you have lube and condoms?”

Harold went to reach for the nightstand and fell back against the pillows with a grimace. When he tried once again and fell back this time with a pained, frustrated grunt, John held him down preventing a third attempt, “Easy-easy. Just lie still.”

Harold closed his eyes and hissed through gritted teeth, “Damn it. Damn it.” When John tried to get up Harold opened his eyes reaching out to stop him. “Not your fault.’’ Harold closed his other hand into a fist and started pounding the mattress. “Damn muscles tensed up again.”

John jumped up anyways to get a fresh glass of water from the bathroom, found Harold’s bottle of Percocet and read the dosage. He helped Harold sit up against the mound of pillows, picked up the bottle, shook out two tablets and put them in Harold’s hand, “Take them.”

Harold took them reluctantly, but the pain lines that were so visible started to lesson and he sank further into the pillows as the medication started to work. John eased the bedclothes out from under Harold and covered him up then sat down on the mattress.

Harold eyes saddened and began to tear up, Harold sobbed, “I wanted you tonight, so much, and now this.” Harold grabbed the bottle and shook it. “Maybe that’s all there is of me—pain, pills, and nothing. I hoped I was ready. Maybe I’ll never be.” A tear fell down Harold’s face, “You need someone who’s not broken, John. I’ll understand if you want to find someone else who can take care of your needs.”

John moved to sit with his back against the headboard and pulled Harold to lean against him. He kissed the top of Harold’s head. “Shhh. I don’t want anyone else. We’ll make love when the time is right. So we were wrong, the time wasn’t now, so what? I’m not giving up. Neither should you. I love you and if this is all we ever do, holding each other like this, I will die a content and happy man.”

Harold sighed, “But you expected more tonight and I let you down. You didn’t even get the release I know you needed that I should have given you.”

It hurt John to hear the resignation in Harold’s voice that he was a failure. “You still can.”

Harold questioned, “How, those pills I took make me lethargic. I’ll hardly be able to move now.”

John moved so he was straddling Harold’s legs close enough for Harold to touch his thighs. He even picked up Harold’s hands and placed them one on each side, “You don’t have to move, just touch me, please?” John grabbed his own cock and started stroking.

John closed his eyes and started describing what he was fantasizing as he jerked himself off.

“I go to bed every night upstairs thinking about you alone here in your own bed, as alone as I am in mine. I think about how much I want to just lie next to you, your body warm and alive next to me. And I get hard, so painfully hard.”

John rose up then, moved his hand lower to grasp his balls so his cock juts out in full display so Harold could see how hard he was already.

“I jerk myself off thinking about opening you up, listening to your cries of want as I insert one finger, then two. You push yourself against them when I hit that spot inside you.”

John cock was starting to ooze precum and he caught it with his thumb and slicked himself with it. “I’m already slick with my own juice, but I lube myself up more before I sink myself into your warm waiting hole. You won’t let me use a condom. You like the feel of my semen as I climax inside you. It doesn’t take me but a few thrusts and I’m there. You come without me touching your cock because of the feel of my seed pulsing against your walls.”

John felt his balls draw up and he covered the head of his cock with both hands to catch his cum as he climaxed. Harold’s eyes widened with awe as he watched John come with just his touch on John’s thighs.

Reese moved off Harold’s legs with a twist of his body and stood using just his legs to pad off into the bathroom to wash his hands.

Harold was still looking out at the room in a daze when John got into Harold’s bed and snuggled under the covers.

John lowered his head onto Harold’s chest, warm and snug against Harold’s heart. “Everything will be fine. Now just let me hold you. **This** is all I really need.”

Harold placed his hand on John’s hair and combed his fingers through it. Harold’s voice was low with a promise, “And you shall have it—tonight, tomorrow night, every night from now on.”

 ****~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John has a setback  
> Harold tells John about the child he and Nathan lost  
> Root makes her move


	18. John's Really Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a really messed up day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's morning after.  
> John's day goes from bad to worse  
> John has a setback  
> Harold tells John that he lost a child too  
> Root begins her nefarious plan

 

The sound of a door being eased closed and the barely audible click of the latch is what awoke John Reese the next morning. John rose up on one elbow to look around the bedroom, Harold’s bedroom. It was early morning, six fifteen according to the rosewood carriage clock on Harold’s bureau. The room was still dusky although there was just enough light to see without turning on a lamp. Outside the windows, the first blush of day was pinking everything as the sun was slowly rising.

Reese looked down to watch the man lying beside him. Finch was sleeping soundly, inhaling and exhaling through a slightly opened mouth. Once, Harold sniffed deeply, started breathing through his nose, until his jaw dropped open and his lips puffed out once more with every exhale. John thought it was the most adorable thing in the world. He could watch Harold’s sleep breathing for hours. But Harold was still sound asleep and wasn’t opening or closing doors.

Of course, it had to be Simmons. Since John wasn’t yanked from Finch’s bed bare ass naked and thrown out the French doors onto the patio—something Reese was quite sure Patrick Simmons was still capable of doing—the surly butler must have been delighted his little ploy had worked out so well. Remembering the wanton, lust filledway Harold had looked at his dick displayed in that X-rated spandex sent jolts to John’s groin even now. Simmons could have found some baggy swim trunks, like the kind Finch had worn. Reese had no idea the size of the gun Harold was packing until John had slid his hand under the waistband. But no, Simmons had found the most obscene of swimwear that harbored no surprises.

Reese slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Thoughts like those didn’t do much in the way of softening his morning wood; they only made it figuratively—hard enough to pound nails. When emptying his bladder did little to alleviate the situation, John decided to head up to his room to avoid any embarrassment or worse. Finch more than likely would be out of it for at least two more hours, but Reese didn’t want Harold to see John’s predicament and get frustrated all over again.

Apparently another one of Simmons’ ploys was for Reese to remain naked as long as possible because John’s clothes were missing from the sauna as well as the robes, his and Harold’s. Even the peek-a-boo swim briefs were gone from the bathroom floor.

Reese slipped out the French doors of Finch’s bedroom taking the veranda stairs up to his suite, feeling like he was sixteen years old once more, when he had streaked across the football field of a rival high school during their homecoming. Only he wasn’t sporting a raging hard on back then or he would have been suspended permanently after getting caught.

John closed the doors hard enough to rattle their glass and raced into his bathroom. He all but slammed that door closed too and leaned against it. _What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not some adolescent whose dick gets hard if the wind changes direction._

Reese grabbed a bottle of lotion off the sink’s counter and stepped into the shower. He snapped the cap open and poured some of the slippery liquid into his hand. It didn’t take long, just a few jerks and twists of the shaft and a thumb rub under the head’s sensitive area, before he climaxed moaning Harold's name. John turned on the faucets letting the spray rinse away the evidence while he came down from another endorphin infused high.

John showered then in water cold enough that it started to make his teeth chatter before he was finished. After he dried himself off, Reese dressed in some jogging clothes and running shoes. A good run might help in keeping the edge off also.

His libido had awakened with a vengeance apparently and showed no signs of slowing down. Being near Finch, sleeping in the same bed as Harold, was tinder for the fire. John had meant what he had said about being content and happy just to hold Harold every night if that was as far as their intimacy would ever progress. However, there was no doubt in John’s mind that their union would be sexual as well, he would physically claim Harold as his; it was just a question of when. _Until then, how am I going to expel the Energizer Bunny that has taken possession my dick?_

Reese went out on the veranda, down the steps, and back into Harold’s room to sit next to his sleeping boyfriend. Finch roused just long enough for John to tell him the start in the new phase of Harold and Bear’s training for the day was cancelled. Reese didn’t know if Finch had really understood that he was going to take Bear for a run instead because Harold had already started to snore softly once more before John even stood up from the bed.

Bear was waiting outside ready to get to work, tail wagging expectantly. John frisked the dog’s ears, “Let’s go test that leg of yours.”

Man and dog spent the next sixty minutes jogging the path to the lake, around it, then over some of the old riding trails, and the path back to the mansion. John was ready to drive to Shaw’s clinic and watch her go speechless when he gave her a thankful hug. Bear might not be able to run full speed and take down a suspect anymore, but he was able to lope along with Reese easily.

John stopped long enough to give Bear a pat on the head, a scratch behind one ear and a treat before he opened the gate to the patio. “ _Goed zo Bear!_  Good boy. _Was het leuk?_ Was it fun? You liked running with me, huh boy? We can run again, okay?” Reese looked across the patio at Harold’s bedroom, “We may be running, a lot.”

 ***

Harold Finch willed one eye to open when he heard the delicate clink of porcelain close to his head; someone setting a tray on the nightstand? Harold opened the other eye and pushed himself up in bed when the aroma of his favorites—blueberry and cream cheese stuffed French toast and hot Sencha green tea—assaulted his senses.

A freshly showered and dressed for the office John Reese leaned over and pecked Harold on the lips, “Good morning sleepyhead,” and straightened back up. When Harold turned to look at the bed tray, John grinned auspiciously, “It didn’t take much for me to persuade Simmons to fix your favorite morning meal and let me serve you breakfast in bed.” The corner of Harold’s mouth lifted when he harrumphed, “No, I don’t imagine it did.” Harold hadn’t been blind to any of the attempts Simmons had made to play cupid for him and John these past six weeks.

Harold asked John to wait momentarily to actually serve him breakfast; that he needed to freshen up before he ate and gingerly eased his stiff and sore body out of bed. Finch had gotten over his unfounded insecurities for good last night. So when John turned his head away even as he offered his hand to assist Harold up and when Harold noticed a look of almost relief on John’s face when he returned from using the facilities wearing a dressing gown and his glasses, Harold was puzzled. There was something else going on with John for him to figure out, but right now he was starved.

Reese helped Harold get settled back in bed and placed the breakfast tray on Harold’s lap. While Harold savored each bite of the French toast stuffed with blueberries on the inside, sprinkled with powdered sugar and covered in Simmons’ special made blueberry syrup on the outside, John sat there on the edge of the bed watching him eat as if waiting to say something. When Finch ate the last bite and let John put the tray back on the nightstand, Harold sipped at his second cup of tea and lifted an eyebrow, “What is it you have been waiting to say?”

Reese swallowed apprehensively and steeled himself as if expecting Finch to get angry, “I let you sleep in, you really looked like you could use the rest. So, I took Bear for a run to test his leg instead of starting the new training this morning. I tried to tell you before I did but you were still out of it.”

John sucked in a breath and the rest came out in a gush of words. “I had Simmons call your secretary to let her know you wouldn’t be coming in. I wanted to take the day off too, but there are two appointments I couldn't reschedule. I need to go in for a few hours to sign contracts with some new clients. We both really need some time off; I’d stay here with you if there was any other way. Please, don’t be angry?”

If it had been anyone other than John making that kind of decision without his consults he might have been irate, only it was John. Harold reached out to put a hand lightly on John’s arm, “You are just taking care of me. Why would I ever be angry with you for that?”

John clasped Harold’s hand to hold it in both of his. John’s answer was distressed, “I just want to care for you and protect you, but, what if I become too controlling, would you be angry then?”

Harold looked into John’s eyes, “Trust me that I know the difference between caring too much and controlling. Trust yourself that you will too.” Harold shook his hand loose and patted John’s knee, “Now let me finish my tea so I can get dressed. I’ll catch up on the work I brought home Friday. I promise to do nothing more strenuous than turning a page or lifting a marker. You, Sir, need to get off my bed and go to your office.”

John smiled and his face brightened. He stood up and then bent down to give Harold a sound goodbye kiss. That nearly caused Harold to spill his tea and he spluttered, “John! Go!”

“Okay, okay.” John gave in trying not to laugh. “I won’t be at _J &J_ past two. I'm stopping at the house to finish up; I’ll let you know when I get there. I'll be home by five at the latest.”

John finished the last sentence through gritted teeth as he started to head for the door. It had been a hair brained thing to do not stretching beforehand and then going on such a long run, now his calves were protesting.

Harold sat the cup on the nightstand and started to get up, his voice full of concern when he asked, “John. Oh my god. Are you alright?”

Harold didn’t need to know the real reason John had went for a run or that he was hurting now because of it. When the cramps subsided, John joked before heading out the door, “I really need to hit the gym again. A damn vacuum cleaner kicked my ass.

As soon as John was out the door, Harold was on the phone purchasing exercise equipment along with professional installation and setup.  

Finch settled on the couch in his study doing nothing more strenuous than reading a book as Simmons handled the delivery people.

With a huge bonus as incentive, by two PM Finch’s physical therapy room looked like a mini gym complete with a workout bag hanging from one corner of the ceiling.

When John texted he had arrived at his house at a little past two, Harold was sitting in the overstuffed chair in his bedroom watching Simmons go through his wardrobe. Patrick boxed up clothes Harold wanted to be donated and arranged the walk-in closet so one half was emptied making room for whatever John wanted to keep downstairs. The suite on the second floor was and would be John’s for as long as he wanted, but Harold’s bedroom was going to be their bedroom now.

***

John backed the Jeep in, rear bumper even with the steps, before he turned the ignition off and walked haltingly along the driver’s side of the Cherokee. He stopped to open the rear window and tailgate, deliberately taking his time. John knew he was stalling on purpose. Reese had truly thought he was prepared for this until the second he had pulled into the drive. After today the house would still be his, but it would no longer be his and Jess’ home and the complete finality of it all hit him unexpectedly. Believing he was ready to close that chapter of his life still hadn't prepared John for the gut wrench that he felt when the time had actually arrived.

It had been a hard thing to do when at last he had donated the baby gifts left unopened that had remained on his office desk for months. The ones Jess had never had a chance to open. Finding Harold had given him the courage though. John had thought this through. When John had decided to rent the house he was ready to move on with his life with Harold and could pack up James’s things as he had Jessica’s the previous day.

Only no matter how prepared Reese thought he was or how much he wanted to start anew with Harold it still hit John hard, harder than he ever expected. What he was about to do now was it. He would never see Jess again, they would never raise their son, and last of all James would never use the nursery that they had prepared together.

Reese sucked in a breath and made his way up the steps. John filled his mind with thoughts of his sweet Harold, a Malinois named Bear and a surly septuagenarian who were his family now.

He had just unlocked the door when a UPS van drove up to stop in the drive. The small brown box the friendly driver handed to Reese was addressed to him although John was not expecting any kind of delivery. He signed the driver’s DIAD; she thanked him pleasantly, turned to jog back to her van, hopped in her truck and drove away. John closed the door behind him opening the package as his made his way towards the kitchen.

When Reese saw what it was, he removed and tossed the wrapping on the floor until he was clutching the contents in one hand. With the other he pulled the partially empty whiskey bottle, the one that Jess had hidden away, from the cabinet and then stumbled into James' room. John leaned against a wall, his back sliding down it until he was sitting on the carpet; bottle in one hand, white leather bound album in the other, and tears rolling down his cheeks.

***

Finch was in his study anxiously watching the clock. John had texted Harold that he was at the house and he would be back at the mansion no later than five. It was now six. At seven Harold had Simmons drive the Escalade around, told Patrick to stay by the phone and climbed into his SUV.

Harold was sure one of his neighbors would report an SUV tearing down the road at breakneck speeds only he didn’t care; there was something wrong and he needed to get to John.

The Jeep was backed up to the steps, its rear cargo area was open and empty, with no sign of John anywhere outside. Harold walked past the Jeep and up the steps. The door was closed but unlocked, so Harold opened the door and went inside. There was no one in the living room; Harold called out with uneasiness, “John? John, are you here?”

There was no answer just the sound of an occasional heart wrenching sob. Harold limped down the small hallway following the sounds. His heart almost broke in two seeing John sitting on the nursery room floor. Harold looked around the room; toys and blankets as well as clothes were still everywhere. It was as if John had not changed a single detail since James died. John was holding something to his chest as he sobbed. Harold stiffly and slowly lowered his protesting body to sit beside John.

Reese looked over at Harold with bloodshot eyes reddened from crying and drinking. John broke down weeping again uncontrollably, “Why did this happen, Harold? Why did God take my little boy away? I wanted him more than anything. I loved him so much.”

Harold held on to John as he collapsed against Harold’s chest, letting John cry against him. Harold rubbed circles across John’s back with his hand while crooning softly, “I don’t know, Honey. I don’t know.” When John curled against Harold even more, Harold wrapped both arms around John rocking him as one would a child and repeated over and over like a mantra, “I’m here now. I’ve got you.”

When the racking sobs eventually wore themselves out to become an occasional shudder against him, Harold tentatively said, “I know what it’s like when people try telling you they understand how you feel when they really can't. I know it’s not the same, our lives before we met were so vastly different, but I know what it is like to lose a child. Nathan and I...Did you know that Nathan and I raised a son?”

Reese was silent for so long Harold wondered if John was even listening until John swallowed and softly answered without looking up, “Yeah, Will Ingram. He’s a good man, works with _Doctors Without Borders_. You should be proud.”

“We,” Harold paused and cleared his throat to start again. “I mean, _I_ am very proud of Will. But did you know that he is Nathan’s biological son? That I had to allow my husband to sleep with a family friend in order to get a child?”

John looked up then and shook his head no.

Harold nodded his head and continued. “It was the late 70’s, early 80’s. AIDS was still called the Gay Cancer. People were literally terrified of gay men. Our company was doing well yet we kept our relationship hidden because of the way things were. I have always had a secretive nature, no one really knew anything about me, the ones that did just assumed I was some eccentric Nathan had befriended.However, we both wanted a child, especially me. Nathan started the process to adopt on his own. It was hard but not impossible for single straight men to adopt under the right circumstances. Once the adoption was complete no one had to know that I wasn't some peculiar uncle figure helping Nathan raise the child.”

Harold smiled wistfully to himself. “We got a beautiful, bubbling baby girl. She was delicate like a china doll yet so inquisitive and carefree, all smiles and laughter. She was a joy. Her mother had named her Leila before she had to give her up for adoption as she was a single woman without a job or money. We had three wonderful months with Leila. She grew so fast and was so smart. We cherished every moment with her. I was proud to be her father, so proud. I didn’t want to hide behind the walls I’d built around myself anymore. We would take her everywhere to show her off. She was the bright light in our lives in the darkest of times.”

Harold’s smile faded away. “Unfortunately, our openness to show off our daughter backfired. The adoption agency got wind of our true relationship. They took Leila away from us as gay men couldn’t adopt in those days. The caseworker berated us for being sick and filthy. She blacklisted us with every adoption agency in the country. We were contemptible Fags. Leila was placed with her grandparents. They never wanted to raise their daughter's child on their own, but once they found out Leila had been adopted by a gay man they changed their minds in a heartbeat. They hotly refused to allow their flesh and blood to be raised by perverts.”

Harold took several deep breaths before he could continue, “It was a bad time for me. I blamed myself, if only I had stayed hidden. I nearly caused myself harm. Nathan was frantic to try and get me out of my suicidal depression. He suggested having Olivia carry a child for us. At that time the only conventional way for a woman to get pregnant was traditional intercourse. This was only a few years after the first test tube baby.I couldn’t bring myself to sleep with a woman especially not at that low point in my life even if it would give me a child. So, Nathan volunteered. He and Olivia had been family friends since their teens. I assume you understand how out of my mind I must have been in order to let my handsome husband sleep with a woman for a month. But, I was so desperate for a child I would have panicked and kidnapped a baby off the street. That is how William came to be my son. He is the joy of my life, but not a day goes by that I don’t think of Leila. She is grown now with two children of her own who will never know me as a grandfather.”

Harold swallowed loudly, trying to control his emotions, “We became anonymous benefactors who paid for her private schools and awarded her a college scholarship. She is happy and healthy and so very much out of my reach that it is a punch in the gut every time I learn about things she has accomplished, her marriage, the birth of her children. I must be a masochist because I still pay to get updates from a private detective about Leila. Every month I read the report and sob. I don't know why I do that to myself. She was never really mine.”

John sat up enough to put his forehead against Harold’s, his words were croaked out from a throat raw from crying, “Of course she was yours. You loved her from the moment you knew about her. She was yours and you lost her just as much as I lost James.”

Harold wiped at his eyes. “I just wanted you know that I understand some of what you are going through. You are not alone and you don’t ever have to hide your grief and pain from me. You can talk to me about James tomorrow, next week, next year, and I will listen; I'll never tell you to get over it or try to change the subject. It takes time to start to live again, but you will never be the same. Loss changes you. I cherished Will more because of my loss. But, I also became more reclusive and missed so much of his life beyond the mansion's gates.”

John lifted his head up to look into Harold’s tear filled eyes catching one that managed to escape with his thumb, “That’s why I love you so much. You do understand. But the listening goes both ways; if you need to talk about Nathan, I'll be here.” He bent to kiss Harold tenderly on the lips and Harold kissed him back. Each were offering comfort and taking comfort their lips touching with the lightest of pressure.

When they finally pulled apart, Harold touched John’s face, “You want to tell me what happened?”

John picked what looked to be a leather bound album of some kind and gave it to Harold.

It was a baby book that had a thin silver engraved nameplate on the front, _John and James_ in flowing calligraphy. Inside were entries for firsts for fathers and sons.

Harold only turned a few pages before he reached over to touch John’s face again, “Oh John. I’m so,so sorry. If there was anything I could do, you know I would.”

Reese leaned into the touch, “You already have.”

Harold's cell phone rang. It was a frantic Simmons calling wanting to know if John was alright and if Harold needed him to come to John’s house. Harold told Simmons John was fine, that they were returning to the mansion.

John helped Harold up from the floor even though he was trying to hold himself up on woozy legs. John made no objection when Harold said he was driving them back to the mansion and dug the Jeep’s keys from his pocket and plopped them in Harold’s hand.

Reese was swaying on his feet his arm over Harold’s shoulder, Harold’s arm around John’s waist trying to hold him steady the whole way out to the Escalade, but they finally made it there. John flopped into the passenger seat awkwardly pulling his legs in so Harold could close the door. Harold limped over to close up the back of the Jeep and lock the doors before returning to his car and getting in. John looked over, his words beginning to slur, “I'm sorry Harold. I just need to go home.”

Simmons was waiting at the front doors of the mansion and helped Harold get Reese out of the Escalade and inside the mansion without uttering a word about John’s condition. With one man on either side they managed to get John into Harold’s bedroom. Patrick knew without being asked that Harold and John needed some privacy and made to leave the room. “I’ll bring you something to eat and whatever Mr. Reese might need later. Ring me if you need anything before then Harold.”

Simmons nodded at John who was sitting up on the bed barely holding himself upright. Patrick closed the door leaving the two alone, when Harold told him, “I’m good. I have this.”

Even though so much had changed since he’d last helped an inebriated Nathan into bed, Harold still managed to make use of years of practice. He had John stripped down to his boxers and into bed by the time Patrick returned with the sandwiches.

Harold ate while watching John who had drifted off to sleep. The new gym equipment and a place in Harold’s bed surely would make John happy, but Harold tried to think of something more to do. _I’m too old to adopt, but maybe we could foster some kids who need someone like John to take them to a baseball game, teach them to throw a ball, or ride a bike...._ _I let Nathan father a child; I could do the same for John._

Harold changed into his pajamas, arranged his side of the bed with his mound of pillows, and slid in under the covers. John rolled over throwing an arm over Harold’s waist, shifted closer, and mumbled against Harold’s ear, “I love you, Harold. Don't ever leave me.”

Harold waited while John curled himself against his body again, then turned off the lamp. In the dark, Harold held John to him, rubbing a hand up and down John's arm soothingly, “I love you too John. I'll be with you as long as you want me.”

@@@

Root watched as the gimpy fag helped a drunken John Reese into his SUV and drive away.

She turned to a man with a pockmarked face and spewed out, “How disgusting! A fine specimen of a man like John Reese has to get drunk before he lets the queer take him home and fuck him. It makes me sick.”

Pockmark grunted, “I’d have to be more than drunk to let a homo rear end me.”

“Damn it! Reese must need a sugar daddy badly for something, but what?” Root put her camera down and drove her car following at a distance. She knew where the SUV was headed.

She parked around the curve a block away from the mansion gates. She had hacked into whatever she could to get a floor plan of the mansion and the layout of the estate grounds. She watched the mansion through her camera lens for another few minutes snapping a picture now and then.

She turned to Pockmark, “I don’t have time to dig to find out just what Reese’s angle is.” Root shrugged her shoulders and laughed evilly, “Hell. Maybe he plans to marry the little fag and bump him off him later for the inheritance.” Pockmark couldn't help but cringe, his boss frightened him, when she cackled insanely, “Well Mr. 'I'll Do Anything for the Money' Reese. Homogimp is going to kill himself and that mangy mutt too when he finds out you only want his **money**.”

Root drove away in the direction of her hideout with all her computers waiting. _J &J_ was going to be investigated after rumors had already started to spread that the company is on the verge of bankruptcy. _Hacking can be so much fun!_

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.  
> Harold day.  
> Harold's gift(s) to John  
> John has to put out fires at J&J  
> Root kidnaps Harold and Bear  
> I wrote quite a bit more so I could make the next chapter into two for reasons
> 
> I used Google translator for the Dutch. If it's wrong blame Google.


	19. Harold Really Truly Loves John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold's really loves John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold takes care of John  
> Harold takes care of some business  
> Will's coming home.  
> Harold's paranoia radar is working it's just a little rusty  
> Root follows him  
> John takes another run the next day  
> J&J is in some trouble  
> Root makes her move

 

Reese turned on his side reaching for the warmth of Harold's body, but his arm fell across cool empty sheets instead. John tried to sit up and then fell back against the mattress. His head felt like it was trying to fall off his shoulders while the room spun on a roulette table.

John didn't move again or try to open his eyes. The room was dim without the drapes pulled back and the blinds opened. Still the little light there was pierced in the room through his eyes and into his head like a drill.

Reese laid as still as possible willing his stomach to quite roiling, but it was determined to expel its contents. John rolled off the bed, nearly tripping on the bedclothes that tried to go with him, blindly felt his way to Harold’s bath, and fell to his knees in front of the commode just seconds before he violently wretched.

When his stomach was through turning itself inside out, John moved a rug aside to curl up on the cool tile floor wishing for all the world said floor would open up and swallow him whole. If only he had called Harold for support when his world came crashing down once more. Instead, he sought comfort in the bottle again. Harold must be so disappointed in him.

Reese just kept lying there groaning occasionally until he heard a gentle voice urging him to sit up. “I can’t bend that far to help you.” John struggled to push and hold himself up on one shaky arm before reaching out with the other trying to find anything to hold onto so he wouldn’t collapse back on the floor. His free hand found purchase grabbing the material of a pant leg. Harold’s small but surprisingly strong hands clamped on his forearm both holding tight until John was able to make it to his knees. Harold pulled John’s hand free of his clothes then helped John stand all the way up holding tight to John’s elbow again.

Harold cleared his throat to tactfully ask, “Do you need to go?” He thoughtfully turned his head to give John as much privacy as he could without leaving the bath and let John take a leak. There wasn’t anything the least bit humorous about suffering a hangover from hell, but John grinned stupidly while he had to search for his penis though the flap of his boxers. _Well that problem’s solved; my dick went into hiding again_. After he managed to shake out the last dribbles and stuff himself back in his underwear without falling over, Harold held tight as they sidled together back out the bathroom door.

Reese felt horrible in more ways than one hearing Harold grunt several times as John had to practically lean all his weight against the shorter man. It was amazing that Harold managed to help John back into bed without letting him fall down. Harold dropped to sit on the edge of the mattress, eyes closed, to catch his breath and breathe through the pain.

Harold drew in one last lungful, held it in for a few moments, then swallowed and exhaled a quick puff of air through his nose. Harold opened his eyes and blinked a few times before he smiled down at John. It was through tight lips as the pain eased, but Harold still smiled.

He helped John to sit up against the headboard sliding some of his own pillows behind John’s back and head for support.

Harold held Reese down by a shoulder when John whimpered out, “I hurt you, Harold. **I hurt you** ,” and tried to stop Harold’s efforts in caring for him.

Finch caught John’s hands in his when John tried to push him away again, “Just lie still, okay?”

Harold hushed him not letting John get out more than a few words of apology, “Harold I’m sorry…”

“There’s no need to be sorry. You had a bad setback that’s all.” Harold gripped John’s hands firmly. “I wish I could tell you it will never happen again, but I can’t. Just remember you have me now. You’re not dealing with your pain alone anymore. What’s yours is mine remember?”

Harold let go of John’s hands, picked up a tall glass tumbler off the nightstand, and held it out for John to take. “This is Patrick Simmons’ surefire cure for even the roughest hangovers, hair of the dog without the hair. Now drink up!” Harold told him firmly, almost giving an order.

The stuff tasted horrible. The flavor of tomato juice was overpowered by lord knew how many other foul tasting ingredients. Nevertheless, while Harold watched him with a look that brooked no argument, John downed every drop. He expected his stomach to protest again, but the queasy feeling went away before he’d emptied the glass.

Harold took the empty tumbler from John’s hands to put it back on the tray. Harold pursed his lips and breathed deep, “It seems the shoe is on the other foot this morning, John. I sent Bear with Simmons commanding him to protect Patrick; he’s making his weekly trip to the markets before meeting with Zoe Morgan for a late lunch today. I have contacted Lionel Fusco and told him you were taking personal time and would not be in today. As for me, I have to check on some things, but I am not going into the office.”

Reese tried to protest and get out of bed, but a feeling of lethargy made him slide down under the sheet instead. Harold tucked John under the covers even more if that were possible, “Just rest. I’ll be back before you know it.”

John felt the rise of the mattress when Harold stood but sleep pulled him under before his eyes could follow Harold to the door.

***

Finch was pulling the Escalade into the parking structure closest to the Brooklyn offices for Doctors Without Borders when he felt it. That sense of foreboding that something dire was about to happen because he had left the safety of the estate’s fences. He took the ticket from the attendant with a shaky hand and found the nearest empty stall to park the SUV and turned off the engine. Harold closed his eyes breathing deeply while telling himself everything was fine, nothing was going to happen.

After a few minutes Harold was able to open his eyes and look around. _Where did that come from?_ He hadn’t had a panic attack like that in years, not even the first time he had left the security of the estate after Nathan had died. And since he had met John there had been none at all. So why was it happening now?

Harold stayed in the vehicle until his breathing was normal again and his hands weren’t shaking. After walking the final three blocks to his destination he was fully in control again.

Finch was in communication with Will via post weekly, but the fastest way to contact his son was through the offices of Doctors Without Borders. Sometimes Will would be treating patients where the only means of quick communication were by satellite phones or radio through the organization.

Of course, Harold could afford these methods or others to contact Will directly, but his son was fiercely independent. The young man did not want his life to be any better than anyone else's because he was born with a silver spoon. His son had even insisted on paying them back for medical school, what little he and Nathan had paid towards it; Will had only accepted their help when there was absolutely no other way. They had given up trying to refuse the money and Harold still deposited it into a savings account in William Ingram’s name every time his son sent a check.

Of course wealth does have its privileges, regardless, when Harold was ushered almost immediately into the communications room. Harold spoke to the young doctor almost immediately by satellite phone. After he calmed a panicked Will Ingram assuring him nothing was wrong, Harold asked his son if he could take his required time off in a few weeks. Will seemed surprised at first then excited to meet John after Harold told his young son all about him. Harold breathed a sigh of relief when Will signed off with an, “I love you Papa. Be happy and I’ll be home soon. ”

Finch walked back to the parking garage with a huge grin on his face the whole way. When he got in his car Harold asked the on-board navigation for directions to the closest City of Brooklyn Child Services office.

After Harold entered the office and signed in, then sat down waiting to be called, he started to feel nervous and apprehensive now that he was actually here. The woman he had spoken to earlier had assured him that a person's sexual orientation did not disqualify a person from becoming a foster parent, but some experiences were hard to forget even decades later.

Finch had expected to be kept waiting, but his name was called and he was ushered to a small cubicle in the back not even fifteen minutes later. Mrs. Barnes seemed almost overjoyed to have a tycoon like Harold Finch and a respected business owner like Mr. John Reese offer their home to children in need. John, Harold, and of course Patrick who was considered living in the home would have to attend a few classes first, but Mrs. Barnes hoped she could place children with them within a month. She barely batted an eye when Harold told her that John and he lived together as a couple at the mansion.

For the second time that afternoon he walked to his car with a huge sense of relief.

The last stop on his way home was a fertility clinic for information on the possibility of artificial insemination and surrogacy. Finch parked his vehicle, deposited change in the meter and looked around. The feeling of foreboding and dread descended again.

There was a small cafe a few doors down from the clinic; Harold went inside and ordered a Sencha green tea with a watercress sandwich. Maybe hunger and thirst were making him edgy? He added one sugar to the tea once it and the sandwich arrived. The tea had arrived steaming hot so he finished the sandwich before even trying to take a sip. The sandwich was delicious, better than the ones Simmons made if that were even possible, so Harold ate slowly savoring each bite.

By that time the tea was cooled enough for him to nurse the hot beverage. Harold fingered the edge of his cup trying to find a cause for the return of this feeling of impending doom. There were always going to be those who judged his lifestyle; was he afraid that bringing it out in the open would be the cause of him losing his family again? Simmons, John, and Bear were his family now. No one could take them away without a fight on their hands. So that made no sense.

Simmons wasn’t about to leave now, not after thirty years. John had made it publicly known he was in a same sex relationship and to hell with anyone who didn’t like it. Harold had not been turned aside because of what he was today, in fact quite the opposite. Besides if they had tried; Harold wasn’t one to throw his weight around, but if someone decided to slander him or refuse him a service then he had the resources and finances to knock down any and all obstacles in his way. So why was he panicking today?

Harold looked out the window, watching people walk by and let his thoughts wander. The answers he couldn’t find had a habit making themselves known when he was focusing on something totally unrelated. Sure enough while thinking about Bear, about the dog’s successful retraining, and how positive John was that the Malinois was ready to be certified as a service animal that could accompany Harold inside most buildings, the reason for his anxiety hit him almost like a physical blow: Harold was deathly afraid that John would be insulted by the idea of possibly replacing James with another child.

Would John think these gestures Harold was making insensitive and cold, that he was trying to buy John a family? Harold was a father and he knew first hand that gaining a second child in no way replaced the lost child in your heart. Leila was as much Harold’s dearly loved daughter as Will was his son, but would John see it that way?

Would John’s fresh wounds be ripped open by Harold’s spontaneous gesture? Harold himself wasn’t sure and his nervous system was going into panic mode because of it.

Having seemingly resolved his issues, Harold rose to leave the cafe. As he passed, he failed to notice the brunette on her smartphone who would have raised the hackles on Bear’s neck if he had been there. Harold had good reason to panic, but his paranoia radar was rusty.

***

Finch had to use the button on the dash of the SUV to open the gate and parked the Escalade himself when Simmons didn’t answer the com. Patrick was still out with Ms. Morgan it seemed. John’s dear friend or no, Harold still had reservations about the woman’s intentions for the years older Simmons. Late lunches did not last past dinnertime! If Harold hadn’t been so concerned about his friend or how John was going to react when Harold told him about the places he had been that day maybe Finch would have noticed the car that had followed him up the winding road and parked a block away from the gate.

Harold sat there in the SUV in the semi-darkness of the unlit garage waiting. Well maybe it was for the best that Harold faced John without anyone there or any dog for that matter. Harold picked up the ringed binder from the seat beside him. All the information the adviser had suggested in printed form was held inside the notebook with only an image of a baby on its front.

Harold scooped up the forms John needed to sign from Child Services and opened the door. It was time to face the music as they say.

Reese was still sound asleep in the bed when Harold entered his...their bedroom through the French doors. He moved as quietly as possible as much as his limp would allow to the small table bending slightly and carefully putting notebook and papers down.

At least Harold thought John was still sound asleep and jumped a bit when John sleepily mumbled, “You’re home.”

John sat up slowly little by little expecting the room to start spinning again like it had earlier. When it didn't and his insides stayed calm, he pointed at what was on the table and teased, “Aw, you brought me home something. You’re so sweet.”

Finch had started at John’s first words and turned to watch him sit up. Harold walked to his rearranged wardrobe to grab a robe for John. Harold returned with it and set at the foot of the bed. “Yes I brought you something, three _things_ actually.” Harold poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand and handed it to John. “Drink this and put the robe on. I have a few other _things_ to show you. Then we will discuss those items on the table. You can decide then if I am sweet.”

When he was finished drinking the water John felt even better, but still let Harold help him to get up and allowed Harold to assist him into the robe. John still couldn’t believe Harold was still being so...nice. Harold held on to John’s arm for support as Reese was still wobbly on his feet.

Harold stopped at the wardrobe again and let go long enough to open the doors wide before he grasped John by the elbow with one hand. With the other he gestured at the inside of the closet, “I meant it when I said the other night about sharing my bed. That means the bedroom and of course the closet.”

John smiled his appreciation at Harold’s thoughtfulness and hugged the older man. Harold hugged him back then pushed himself away, “That’s not all.” Finch led John through the bath; his face pinked a bit when he said, “Of course you can use this room.” Harold slipped off his shoes once more as they entered the sauna room. “And the sauna as well.” When Harold opened the door to the newly arranged therapy room, Harold could barely contain his enthusiasm when he looked around at all the shiny new equipment, “You mentioned you wanted to work out in here with me and you needed to hit the gym. Now you can do both, right here.”

John scooped Harold to him, hugging the man so hard that Harold made a loud oomph. “What did I do to deserve you?”

John frowned a bit when he stepped back expecting Harold to be excited still with a huge grin on his face, not the worried expression he wore now.

Harold didn’t answer just led them back to the bedroom and asked John to sit down on the bed again. He went over to the table, returned to the bed and sat down too.

The first piece of paper Harold showed him then was a travel itinerary that among other things listed a flight departure from Bangui M'Poko in the Central African Republic and an arrival time at JFK. “My son Will is coming home to meet you.” John groaned a bit, this was another meet-the-family he dreaded. Harold heard the groan. “It’s okay. He’s excited to meet the man who made his Pop happy again."

Harold then handed John the stack of papers for fostering. Harold breathed deep and then looked at John’s face, “I know I should have discussed this with you first. I know how much you love children and how much you wanted to be a dad. I’m too old to adopt another child, but I thought you and I can be there for kids that need a home or father figures to care about them.”

John didn’t bother to read the paperwork, just laid it down on the bed between them. John was angry for all of two seconds before Harold’s words sunk in. Harold wanted to help kids that needed fathers. Not just Harold alone but both of them raising children together.

John reached over to put a hand on Harold’s leg and rubbed it companionably to show he was not angry. “Yeah you should have asked me first. We could have gone to sign up together. I’d love to have some kids running around here calling us Dad.”

Then Harold handed him the notebook. He sat there biting at his lip with that worried expression while John looked at the paperwork inside. John stopped reading and looked at Harold when the implications of what he was looking at hit him. Harold wanted to adopt John’s natural child the way he had Nathan’s all those years ago.

John hadn't thought of ever trying again for a natural child of his own or even **if** he wanted to try again, but the knowledge that Harold would want and love that child as if he or she was his own brought tears to John’s eyes.

Reese cupped Harold’s face and softly kissed those red lips. “I am so honored that you would even contemplate raising a child with me considering the bad decision I made last night.”

Harold had closed his eyes during the kiss, he opened them now. “I don’t see it as a bad decision. I see it as a bad situation. You were blindsided and took comfort in the nearest place. From now on, I plan to be closer than any bottle. We have each other and we have this home. You won’t need whiskey to soothe your hurts.”

John went to kiss Harold again, but a jaw splitting yawn kept his mouth occupied. He laughed, “I think I’m still tired. I managed to get out of bed earlier to go looking for you. I even went into the kitchen, of course you weren't there and neither was Simmons, so I decided to try to eat something. I scrounged some food from the fridge; then I took it back to the study to eat and wait for you. The food stayed down but the hangover got me though so I went back to bed. I’d only been asleep for a few minutes when you came in. Are you hungry?”

Harold smiled and shook his head. “No. I ate earlier.”

John smiled back. “Well, I would really look forward to a cuddle and some more shut eye. Want to join me?” John wiggled his eyebrows.

Harold smacked John's arm playfully, knowing that neither man was up to more than snuggling and sleep. Harold went to brush his teeth and John followed. They bumped into each other a few times but soon they had the routine underway. Harold was looking forward to the time when the bedtime ritual would be second nature to them. John turned down the bed while Harold shut off the lights. The water jar had been filled by John and Harold took his night meds. They slipped into the cool sheets together. John rested his head on Harold's propped up chest. They were content and sighed together.

Soon Harold’s eye drooped into slumber. The last thought before sleep claimed him fully was the realization that Simmons must be partaking of Ms. Morgan's hospitality all night. Harold almost woke John up to complain but decided against it.

***

Reese sat up with a start. He slipped out of bed, moved to the French doors without a sound, and pulled back the curtain just enough to see out onto the patio. He then grinned at the sight. Simmons was tip-toeing his way to the kitchen entrance while Bear was gnawing on a dinosaur bone with relish.

John looked back at Harold who was still oblivious to world. Harold had taken his Percocet without complaint last night; an indication of how much his body was still protesting from Sunday’s overexertion plus whatever the added stress yesterday had cost him. In addition, John could tell Harold was just plain exhausted. They were both sound asleep before the lights had lit up the city below the mansion. No, Harold would be out of it for hours still.

John went into the bath, used the facilities then dressed in his running clothes again. Thankfully, they had made their way into Harold’s...their closet instead of back upstairs. John opened the doors as quietly as he could and went out to the patio. It didn’t take much convincing to get Bear to leave his prized femur; the dog was more interested and excited about going for another run.

Thankfully John's libido had somewhat recuperated this morning, but wasn’t the reason for his need to run. He needed to clear his head and his body of the alcohol’s lingering effects.

Also John needed to think. Think about Harold Finch and the truly amazing man he was. Harold had held John as he had cried about James. Harold had cared for him, helped John through his mental anguish even at the expense of causing his own body physical pain.

The idea of fostering kids grew on Reese the more he thought about it as he ran. When he passed the stables John thought about the possibility of him and Harold teaching them how to ride a horse. Maybe Harold could never ride again because of his injuries, but he could care for them. Shaw had mentioned once she treated horses the SPCA had rescued that were in poor condition that always needed fostering while recuperating and the difficulty of finding the fosters. Would Harold want to be a foster dad to an equine in need?

Then Reese thought about having another child of his own flesh and blood. John was honest with himself, he just wasn’t ready to try again; maybe he never would be. Yet Finch had been willing to raise a baby, John’s baby, when Harold should be spoiling grandchildren.Just knowing that was a balm to the wound of losing James that may never fully heal.

John was on the return path to the mansion, barely seven AM when the cell phone in his pocket started vibrating crazily with text after text.

_Where are you? … Answer your Phone… Emergency!!…Trouble at J &J!!!...We need you ASAP!!!!_

Reese called a very upset Lionel Fusco. It had started yesterday. They were knee deep in it trying to stop an attempted hack into the company’s finances; dealing with the rumors _J &J_ was going bankrupt, calming worried clients and employees alike. John was needed in the office like ten hours ago.

John ran back as fast as his legs would carry him and up the veranda steps to his studio. He dug out the two inch thick binder of the company’s latest financial report from his desk along with the last three monthly statements for the company’s bank account and stuffed them in his briefcase.

Showered and changed into one of his monkey suits fifteen minutes later John grabbed the case and went down the stairs.

Reese sought out Simmons in the kitchen, told him what was going on, and grabbed a Danish pastry, wolfing it down in three bites. He darted out the back door again and went back into their bedroom. John scribbled a note and put it on the nightstand under Harold’s glasses.

John kissed Harold on the forehead before he left the room.

Reese drove through the gates and gunned the truck as he sped down the road. John didn't notice the woman sitting along with two men in a dark sedan. All three watching John speed by with hyena-like smiles in their faces.

After another ninety minutes of waiting they watched as the old man pulled his Lincoln Town Car out of the gates heading in the same direction at a more sedate pace

The sedan pulled up to the gates and the woman held up what looked like a scanner of some sort and pushed a button. The gates opened wide for the intruders and the sedan advanced slowly up the drive and around to the rear of the mansion. Its occupants exited the vehicle and crept towards the mansion like a pack of wild dogs on the prowl.

***

Harold groggily sat up. He noticed right away he was alone in the bed, in the room itself and felt a pang of disappointment. He reached for his glasses and found the note.

> _You don’t know how badly I wanted to get back under the covers with you. I wanted to touch and kiss you until you were breathless. I wanted to hold you against me and never get up again. But duty calls. It’s a madhouse at J &J right now and I might be gone all day. I’m sorry._
> 
> _I love you so much._
> 
> _PS Don’t be too hard on Simmons, okay?_

Harold was worried. What was going on a _J &J_? It had to be something so serious that John didn’t even have the time to wake him. And what did he mean about Simmons?

Harold sat up over the edge of the bed, slid his feet into his slippers, stood, and then pulled on his dressing gown to go in search of Simmons who had not answered his call button.

Harold turned around and his heart started pounding in his chest. The door to his study swung open and two men entered holding guns pointed right at his head.

They were followed by a tall brunette female who lifted her lips in a flirty, friendly smile, but her eyes were full of hatred, “Hello Harry. My name is Root.”

 ****~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Root tortures Harold before she tries to kill him.  
> Bear saves John from Root  
> John rescues Harold but is it too late?  
> A son comes home
> 
>  
> 
> ****warning*****  
> Root is an evil sick and twisted human being.  
> She reaps her reward via the dog she abused.  
> If this upsets you skip the next chapter.


	20. John and Bear Save Harold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John saves Harold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Root terrorizes Finch, tries to kill Harold and Bear  
> John and Bear take down Root's thugs and Root  
> John and Bear save Harold  
> Near drowning complications  
> Will comes home  
> Harold is okay
> 
> The End!  
> Not really

 

With an incline of her head in Finch’s direction one of the men holstered his weapon under his jacket and advanced towards Harold, with a look of contempt that rivaled that of his mistress. Finch gritted his teeth against the jolts of pain as the burlier of the two henchmen, the one with a severely pockmarked face, grabbed Harold’s arm with his beefy hands. Without any consideration to Finch’s disabilities the brute pulled Harold over to one of the brocaded chairs and shoved Finch down into it.

Tears pricked at Harold’s eyes as a fire-like sting shot down his fused vertebrae to meet the similar burn that radiated up from his hip and lower back. Finch’s heart was still pounding in his chest and he felt like screaming from the agony. Finch lifted his head while blinking back his tears to look at the glee on his attacker’s faces as they expected him to do just that. Harold was determined not to give them the satisfaction, breathed heavily through the pain instead, then panted out, “What do you want?”

Henchman number one stepped to the back of the chair and pulled his gun once more shoving the muzzle against Finch’s neck, while the woman who called herself Root paced over like a cat hunting its prey and knelt in front of Harold.

Root reached up to put a hand on Finch’s cheek, the gun at his neck a warning not to move, then caressed Harold’s face almost tenderly before she grabbed his chin in a cruel vice-like grip, “You’re a brave little gimp, aren’t you? A fairy like you, I expected some kind of a whimper. Oh well no matter, we have plenty of time.” She then stood and sat down in the chair opposite, crossing her legs. She raised her lips in that smile that never reached her eyes, the one that made light of something bad, “To answer your question. You found something of mine and I came to get it back.”

Harold stared at this Root believing the woman was as confused as she was unhinged, what could he have possibly found that she wanted back. Harold’s eyes darted over to the patio doors, he had found Bear and Root was the person who had abused him. She laughed at Finch’s bravado when confusion turned to anger, “It was you! You’ll have to get by me if you think you’ll ever touch that dog again.”

“Oh, Harry! You are so brave and so foolish,” Root laughed some more. She had the goon standing behind Finch holster his gun again and hold Harold down in the chair his beefy hands on Harold’s shoulders. “You really think you are going to stop me?”

“You are not going to do a thing except for what I tell you to do,” the smile vanished as Root pulled a small handgun from somewhere hidden in her clothes and pointed it at his heart.

Root ordered goon number two to bring in the _surprise_ and goon number one to grab some of Harold’s clothes from the closet.

Harold watched his clothes being rifled through then tossed out on the floor haphazardly before he turned his head to look at Root once more, “Why? Why are you doing this?”

Root gloated, “Well since where you are going you won’t **breathe** a word, I guess I can be magnanimous and tell you why. You see Harry, I am a freelancer. I will do just about anything for the right price. And sometimes that includes convincing people to make the right decision. One of those people was a down on his luck vet who needed convincing that not testifying as the prosecution’s key witness and to disappear was the right decision to make.

Root paused tilting her head in the direction of the French doors, “Of course, one does not disappear with a huge dog in tow. So I acquired our friend outside. He became quite useful at times. A snarling, growling beast at one’s throat makes it hard to refuse...suggestions. Unfortunately one day we were interrupted; we had to leave in a hurry, fleeing a crime scene riddled with evidence and our friend escaped from his unlocked crate. All the police had from the scene was our friend’s blood and hair, a victim who refused to give a statement, and no crime to speak of. I was in the clear, the mutt was probably a goner, and it was business as usual for me.”

Root face hardened into pure hatred when she looked at Harold again, “Until one day I am following my next mark in the park when I spot that damned dog and the two homos walking along with him. It wasn’t hard to figure out who one of you were what with the signs on the door of your vehicle. That little write up in the paper though was an unexpected boon. I had both your names and where you lived.”

Root’s face took on a puzzled expression as she continued, “I did some checking into John Reese, a man recently widowed when his wife of over ten years passed away. I couldn’t figure out what game he was playing parading around with a crippled gay man on his arm. And unfortunately time ran out before I could. My employers who were aware of my methods got spooked hearing about the living, walking DNA Doggie. And now here we are.”

The second goon walked back through the study doors and handed Root several papers that appeared to come from a computer printer.

Root pushed herself out of her chair, moved to the jumbled pile to scoop up the clothes from the floor, gun still in hand and carried them to the bed. “Well Harry, you are going to get dressed now and I am going to help you. My men here tend to get a little rough.”

Harold didn’t want any of these loathsome humans touching him let alone watching him dress, but he had no choice when he was pulled up from the chair and shoved towards the bed. Root pointed the gun and ordered him to strip.

Harold couldn't have felt more victimized than he did when she walked around him helping him out of his gown, pajamas, and boxers while looking at and occasionally touching his scars. When she had her fill, she knelt to help him step into clean boxers where he stood, pull on a tee, and slip on an outer shirt. She repeated the process, kneeling down so he could use her shoulder for support and step into his slacks. Root made it a point to step in front and button up his fly then groped him painfully, her long nails digging into his scrotum. She leaned over and hissed in his ear. “You think I didn’t see this too. No wonder Reese had to get wasted out of his skull to let you fuck him.”

Harold swallowed hard and clenched his eyes tight, but made no sound at the pain.

Root let him go then with a “Hmm,” and pushed him hard to sit on the bed. It was just his ergonomic mattress yet when his backside landed on it another burning sting shot up his back. She tapped her foot expectantly waiting as Harold only gasped and breathed hard without making any other sound. Root watched expectantly then pouted, “Still not a peep, huh Harry?”

Root threw a pair of Harold’s shoes down at his feet and a pair of socks on the bed next to him. “Put them on, I’m getting tired of this part of the game.”

Finch struggled to put on the socks then the shoes with his back hurting the way it was much to Root’s glee. When Harold was finished and glared up at her she motioned Beefy Hands to move him back over to the table.

Root forced him to take the sheaf of printouts and look them over. Harold couldn’t believe what he was seeing. They were texts from a _Concerned_ with snippets of financial records from _J &J_ pointing to the company being in the red. Harold wadded them up and tossed them on the floor, “This is a lie!”

Root picked the papers, laid them on the table, and smoothed them with her hands. “Of course it’s a lie Harry. As far as I could hack into the company’s accounts, _J &J_ is solid as a rock. But Harold Finch the aging queen that recently came to love again doesn’t know that. After seeing this report, Harold Finch would be so humiliated.”

Root shoved a pen and blank sheet of paper across the table. “Now before you, your friend outside, my friends, and I all go for a little drive, you are going to write a _Dear John Reese letter._ ” Harold stared open mouthed at the three who started laughing hysterically.

While Root still giggled at her humor, she told Harold what to write. “Tell John you have found out why someone like John Reese would ever pretend to be in love with an old and crippled queen like you. You are going away for an undetermined amount of time, but he has three days to get out of the mansion.”

Harold shoved the paper back. “You’re insane. Under no circumstances would John ever think I fell for these lies. I’m not writing anything!”

Root tutted and had troglodyte number two put a gun on the table Harold instantly recognized as the one from his desk in the study. “We can always wait for John. It’s so much messier but the police will just assume that you found out Reese was romancing you for your money, shot him in a fit of anger, killed the dog, and then turned the gun on yourself. It’s your choice, Harry. You and the mutt or all three of you die.”

Finch couldn't let these lunatics kill John so he wrote out the letter and then threw the pen at Root’s smirking face. “You’ll never get away with this. If you think I’m just going to go with you peacefully....”

Beefy Hands stuck Finch in the neck with a hypodermic needle and Harold limply sagged in the chair. Root murmured, “No Harry I didn’t think you would.”

***

John Reese pulled the truck through the gates of the mansion. _Home at last._ It had been a grueling day with seemingly every government agency from the ACC to USPS wanting to go through _J &J’s_ financial reports with a fine toothed comb. When the NYDOS DOLS representatives were satisfied and didn’t pull _J &J’s_ license, Reese had called it a day. Lionel volunteered to handle the media, have letters sent to every employee that their job was secure, and do the same with every client letting them know _J &J_ was solid. Meanwhile, John just wanted to go home to Harold.

The Escalade was in its stall when Reese parked his truck. John’s spirit lifted immediately seeing that Harold was there waiting inside. All John wanted to do was take a hot shower then spend the rest of the evening, his head in Harold’s lap watching something on TV or listening to Harold read.

Reese found himself whistling with a spring in his step and even started singing some silly song he had heard on the radio. He opened the gate prepared to be pounced on by an overly excited Bear. Harold must have caved and let the dog in the mansion, but that logic didn’t stop the prickle of fear that ran down his neck that something was wrong.

John used the rear entrance to the mansion and peeked into the dining room then the living room before backtracking to Harold’s study. That room was empty too with no Finch or Bear. Reese opened the bedroom door to another empty room. His stomach felt like it dropped to his knees after he walked over and read the handwritten letter propped up on a stack of papers. **  
**

> _John,_
> 
> _I love you and I really believed you returned that love. Only I was a fool wasn’t I? Why would a young, strong, virile man ever want a crippled old fag like me? I played right into your hands; I would have given you anything. I need to get away. For how long I don’t know. However, I want you out of the mansion within three days._
> 
> _Harold Finch_
> 
> _I am taking Bear with me. I know he will always remind me of you, but his affections for me are true and I couldn’t leave him behind._  

Reese dropped the letter back on the table, turned to walk out the patio doors and went up the veranda steps to his suite, his feet dragging with every step. How could Harold think so little of John and of himself?

Reese leaned against the veranda wall looking out at the estate. No, no Harold would never believe those lies. If he did, Harold wouldn’t run away, he’d face John head on. Only what if he had been so hurt he couldn't look at John, what if Harold was gone? _J &J_ employed one of the best PIs in the business. John would find Harold somehow, make things right.

Voices carrying on the breeze had John looking out across the estate grounds. He could barely make out the three figures standing next to the lake.

_**Harold!** _

Something was telling John that although neither of the people could be Harold that these figures were somehow connected to Harold and the danger he could be in. Reese ran faster than he ever had before until he was fifty yards from the three. The woman and two men were so fixated on watching bubbles breaking the surface of the water, carrying on as if it was the most hilarious thing they had ever seen, that they didn’t hear John approach.

Reese grabbed the first man, snapping his neck, before the others even knew what happened. The second guy—big, beefy, and brawny—put up a token fight before John took him down, permanently.

The woman had recouped her surprise and was holding a gun, pointing it at Reese. “Well, well, well, what an unexpected surprise. It's so nice to meet you John."

The woman flipped her hair back and motioned with the gun for John to step back from the men's bodies. She shoved each man over with her foot while darting glances down at one then the other. With a casual shrug of her shoulder and another shake of her head to toss her hair back again, "All though my men here would seem to disagree."

John tried to make a move forward, but the woman snapped her gun hand up, "I wouldn't try anything. I know how to use this and I will since you crashed my little party here. That was really rude of you." The woman shrugged her shoulders again, "I guess I must take some of the blame. I thought you would be gone for hours still putting out all those fires I started."

The pieces fell in place for John just then, "It was you! You wanted to get me away from Harold. Why!? What have you done to him!?! If you hurt him I'll..."

"Stay back!" The woman stepped back a bit herself then took aim as she began to laugh, "Well I'll be damned! So you do love the little gimp?” the woman cackled. “You are just as perverted as he is! It's just as well because now you get to join him.”

Just as she raised her arm to aim the gun at John’s head, a blur of brown grabbed the arm and pulled the woman down to the ground. Her head and neck hit the rock behind her with a sickly thud. Bear gripped with his jaws a few seconds, pulled a couple of times, then released her arm and ran over to Reese dripping wet and muddy. John cautiously walked over and kicked the gun away. The woman wasn’t moving, her neck obviously broken, but she still managed to glare up at him before gurgling, “You lose.”

**_The bubbles!?!_ **

John pulled off his shoes before running to the water’s edge. “ _Zoek_ Bear! Go find Harold!” The wet dog dove back into the cold water with Reese following behind in Bear's wake.

***

Finch opened his eyes to murky darkness with cold water up to his knees and a few inches below the dashboard. Bear was licking his face and whining. Harold tried to focus, to move just a little, only whatever they had drugged him with made it hard to even keep his eyes open. If not for Bear trying to wake him he would have drifted back under.

Finch willed himself to open his eyes again when he felt water, cold water creep over his knees and cover his legs up to his hips. He was in their old Ford pickup, the one they once used to pull their horse trailer, to haul hay and grain from the feed store, but how did he get in the vehicle? Where was it now? ‘Since you’ll never **breathe** a word...’

Harold sluggishly reached for the driver’s side door handle to get them out. They were under water. They were going to drown if he couldn’t get them out. Only Harold couldn’t budge the door open, the drug made him too slow, too weak to push it open.

Finch turned his head when Bear whined and pawed at his leg. He couldn’t get them both out, but he could save Bear. The rear window had two sliding glass panels. It felt like he was moving his arm through wet cement as Harold reached for the latch. The water rushed in as he flipped the latch open and pulled a panel towards him. Harold’s hand dropped to his side and he weakly ordered the canine, “ _Voruit!_ Bear. Go!”

Harold closed his eyes letting the drug pull him under again. A sense of peace washed over his face with the rise of the water as it completely filled the cab. John and Bear are safe was his last thought as he succumbed to the darkness.

***

The deeper John dove into the lake the less light there was. If not for Bear leading them right to the vehicle he would have wasted precious time trying to locate the old pickup. It was wedged between two chunks of broken concrete, long since covered with algae and sediment. In the murk of the water the truck was camouflaged.

Reese swam around the cab of the vehicle feeling for a way to get inside to free Harold. He found the opening in the rear window Bear must have squeezed out of but there was no way John was going to fit through the tiny opening.

John shook his head wishing he could yell out. Harold was dying and there was no way he could get in. John pointed upwards and Bear followed him to the surface. Reese floated a few seconds to get his bearings then swam for the shore. He needed something to break the windshield to get in. It only took John five minutes to make it back to shore, pick up the crazy woman’s gun, swim back, breath in deep to fill his lungs with air, and dive in to reach the truck again. Only it was five precious minutes Harold didn’t have.

Reese was either going to fire a shot into the glass or use the butt of the gun as a hammer to shatter the windshield. Luckily the gun did fire underwater; the bullet made a softball sized hole in the glass and embedded itself in the seat on the passenger side of the vehicle. John ejected the gun’s clip and emptied the chamber in a lightning fast move to prevent the gun from firing again. John then used it like a steel bludgeon to batter the hole until it was big enough to fit through. Once he was inside it didn’t take much force to elbow the rest outwards onto the hood.

John felt like his lungs were about to burst as he pulled Harold from behind the steering wheel and out of the vehicle. With arms wrapped around Harold’s upper torso, Reese kicked his feet taking them both upwards. John gasped for air as soon as his head broke the surface, but even as he did so John started for the shore. It seemed to take forever before Reese managed to drag himself from the water’s edge a few feet, pulling Harold along with him.

Thank God Reese had learned CPR in the service and had been re-certified every two years since. Harold had been under water way too long to wait for help, it might even be too late now.

John breathed into Harold’s mouth and did chest compressions until his arms ached. Tears started running down his face when Harold still lay there cold and lifeless.

John looked up and railed to the heavens, “No! You’re not taking him too!” Twice more he breathed into Harold’s mouth following it with the compressions, pleading with each push, “Har-old I love you. Har-old I need you. Please come back to me.”

When John paused to prepare to breathe into Harold’s mouth one more time, Harold gasped and choked out some water. John turned him on his side until Harold was done spitting up and started breathing on his own. It was thready, raspy, and the most beautiful sound in the world.

John picked up one of Harold’s hands to hold in his, but it was like ice. He had to get Harold warm again. But Reese knew he had no strength left to carry Harold back to the mansion.

Reese got up and stumbled over to one of the deceased henchmen and stripped him of his coat. John staggered back, taking off his wet clothes down to his boxers, before kneeling and doing the same for Harold. John lay down on his side turning Harold so they were lying stomach to stomach before covering them both with the henchman’s coat.

John had completely forgotten about Bear until he started snuffling Harold’s head. “He’s okay Bear. _Auf liggen_.” John lifted the coat and the dog lay down on his stomach, his dried fur coat and warm body pressed against Harold’s back.

The three lay there like that for almost an hour before Bear sat up his ears twitching. It must be Simmons John hoped. He pointed towards the mansion, “Bear _apport!_ ” The Malinois got up and walked a few steps before he took off at a dead run.

Reese watched Bear run, actually run, until the Malinois was out of his sight. John wiped at his face and frowned before he pulled Harold closer; hopefully help was on its way, yet, the first thing to pop into his mind was that he really needed to hug Sameen Shaw.  

***

Reese thought he was suffering from some kind of oxygen deficiency himself when within minutes after Bear headed for the mansion Simmons and Zoe Morgan were in the electric cart Simmons had used to tour the property.

Zoe Morgan only needed to hear John’s quick abbreviation of what had happened before Zoe took charge of the situation. She understood that John wanted an ambulance for the brunette, but Harold just needed to get to the mansion.

John picked Harold up gently to carry him to the cart. He had never thought of Finch as small and frail because of Harold’s dominating spirit. Yet, as Reese took the seat just occupied by Zoe while holding a cold and barely breathing Harold in his lap, John prayed that Finch’s heart and will to live wasn’t irreparably broken by the woman who was now ranting maniacally as Simmons drove the cart away.

The blanket Simmons had miraculously produced from somewhere kept them covered and somewhat warm as he walked with Harold through the gate and finally to the bedroom. John dressed Harold in dry underwear and some sweats he found hanging in the back of Harold’s wardrobe and covered Harold with more blankets and a heavy quilt before finally getting dressed himself.

John had just sat down on the side of the bed to grab Harold’s hand to see if it was warming up when Simmons showed a pissed off Sameen Shaw into the bedroom.

Dr. Shaw carried a physician's bag along with her, set it on the bed, ordered John to move, then started to examine Harold. She pulled out a stethoscope and listened to Harold’s heart and lungs. She barked out questions like how long Finch was underwater, how long did John have to do CPR before Harold started breathing on his own, did Finch cough up a lot of water or a little.

Shaw then pulled the covers back, pushed up Harold’s sleeves to look at his arms, then the back of Harold’s neck until she found the needle mark at the edge of his hairline. “God damn it.”

Shaw looked up at Reese, “You know he should be in a hospital John?” She then opened the bag again to pull out an IV kit, a bag of saline, and three other smaller bags and started an IV drip in Harold’s left arm. “I understand why you don’t want to take him. After you lost Jessica you don’t trust the doctors there. However, Harold needs a real doctor and I’m not.

Reese walked to the other side of the bed and sat down again, taking Harold’s left hand in his. “Jessica once told me you were the best intern and if not for your bedside manner you would have become one of the best doctors. Harold needs the best and you’re it.”

Shaw nodded her head, “Okay. I just give him an IV to flush the drug they gave him out of his system. That is why he is still unconscious. They might have drugged him to make getting him in the vehicle and murdering him easier. Only, that drug may have just saved his life instead. Harold being unconscious before he entered the water just might have stopped him from inhaling fluids into his lungs and drowning instantly. If...when he wakes up I can tell more if there are any other complications.”

Dr. Shaw then gave John an assessing look, “The other IV solutions are to clear and strengthen the lungs. Even a small amount of water can damage the lining of the lungs and cause inflammation. If the lung lining is damaged, it can’t transmit oxygen, and the body is also leaking fluid into the lungs as a result of the inflammation, like he is drowning in his own fluids. Harold could also develop pneumonia.”

John left Shaw to watch over Harold while he went into the hallway to speak with Zoe. Ms. Morgan had handled the police. The woman whom the police had identified as Samantha Groves aka Root was taken away under police custody. The two dead men were identified as petty criminals and taken to the morgue. John could come into the precinct later to answer questions, but there wouldn’t be any charges filed against Reese.

Reese and Shaw took turns through the night watching over Harold, who regained consciousness shortly after daybreak the next morning. Finch was confused as he slowly came around, especially waking up with Sameen Shaw standing next to his bedside. Of course, when he was able to speak Harold tried to launch a dozen questions at once. Shaw with her usual lack of tact told Harold to be quiet and once she was finished examining him, he could ask John all the questions he wanted.

Shaw checked Harold’s vitals before listening to his lungs. She pulled John to the side, “I’m going to the clinic for a few hours. Call me immediately if he starts coughing constantly, his breathing becomes abnormal, or he starts vomiting.”

Reese returned to Harold’s bedside. Before John let Harold get a word out John sat down, pulled Harold up into a hug, and choked out, “I thought I’d lost you.”

Of course as was Harold’s way instead of asking for comfort, he soothed John instead, “Everything is okay. I’m still here. I've got you.”

When Reese finally let go and sat back, they just looked at each other briefly before both men tried to talk at once. John quieted Harold by pressing a long finger against Harold’s lips. “You can tell me what that crazy bitch did to you when you are feeling better. I just want you to know that everything she told you was a lie. I love you Harold Finch, and ... I want you. I don't care if you live in a multi-million dollar mansion or a cardboard box under the 39th Ave Bridge.”

Harold managed to get out, “I know. I never once doubted that,” before John silenced him with that long finger once more. Reese pulled the covers up tucking Harold in and then stretched out on the bed along Harold’s left, “Just sleep now.”

John kept watch until Harold’s eyes drifted closed, moved his own head so he could listen to Harold breathe and hear Harold’s heartbeat. John’s eyes closed soon thereafter.

***

Reese woke to the sound of coughing. Finch was trying to catch his breath between chest rattling hacks, before gasping “Going...to...be sick.” John had already moved onto his own knees intending to help Harold sit up. Reese fell back on his haunches, held Finch’s body so Harold was lying across his own legs and facing the floor just as Harold violently wretched.

Simmons who had been checking on the two periodically, dropped the tray he had been carrying into the room and pulled his cellphone from his uniform, dialing Shaw himself.

The valet had just finished cleaning the floor while John had removed Harold’s soiled clothing and put him in a clean shirt when Shaw came crashing through the study door.

Shaw put her bag on the table, pulled a hypo from it, walked to the bed, and jabbed it in Harold’s arm before she even said a word. She checked Harold’s vitals again, listening with a grimace to Harold’s chest with her stethoscope.

“Shit!” Shaw swore under her breath then stood to face John. “We need to get him to a hospital now. His lungs are filled with fluid. He has pneumonia, John. There’s nothing more I can do here. I’m calling an ambulance.”

Reese nodded then sat down on the edge of the bed to try and calm Harold who was now pleading between coughs, “No hospital, please John. No hospital.”

Everyone was gathered around the bed while John did his best to calm Finch. The more Harold begged, the more he coughed and the worse he coughed. John tried one last time, “Please Harold, you need to go. Shaw has done all she can here.”

No one heard the door open or saw the deeply tanned, sun bleached blonde enter the bedroom. “Dr. Shaw may have, but I have not.”

It was like a parting of the waves as everyone moved aside for the younger man to stand next to the bed and look down, “Hey, Pop.”

Harold blinked through the tears already gathered in his eyes from the coughing and his fever that now mixed with tears of happiness and a new hope, “Will?”

The young man sat on the edge of the bed and held tight to his father’s hand, “It’s me, Pop. I’m home.”

Harold tried to smile up at his son, before Harold was racked by another fit of coughing. When the coughing eased a bit Harold begged his son, “No hospital. Just you. Just John. Please, Son?”

The young man patted his father’s hand, “No hospital, Pop. Just me and your John. I promise.”

Shaw opened her mouth to argue, “Look I don’t know who you think you are, but Harold needs to be in a hospital. Now!”

The young man stood and faced Sameen Shaw, “My name is Dr. William Ingram. I have treated patients in hovels that had nothing more than mud for walls and dirt for a floor yet I managed to save their lives. I can assure you I can do the same for my father here in a mansion that has better medical equipment than most hospitals. Now if you'll excuse us, Mr. Reese and I have work to do.”

Shaw stalked out of the room, flinging back across her shoulder to John, “Call me if you need me.”

***

Young Ingram turned to John to offer his hand, "I'm Dr. William Ingram. You must be John Reese." The two shook hands briefly before Will returned to stand over his father fondly, pushing back Harold's sweat soaked hair off his forehead. Harold who was still mumbling, "No hospital," quieted and closed his eyes when Will promised again, "Just John and me, Pop. Just John and me."

Will then excused himself and left the room only to return with his own medical bag. The young doctor removed several vials and gave his father injection after injection. He glanced at Reese once, "Antibiotics, an anti-inflammatory, cough suppressants, a fever reducer.

“We need to get his fever down.” Will produced a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a cloth. Will pulled the blankets back. “John, I need you to remove his clothes. Use these to bathe his arms, chest and legs. The alcohol will cool his skin and help reduce his temperature.” The younger Ingram went to the door, “I'm going to wait outside for Patrick. I'll just be on the patio if you need me.” He cut John's warning short, “It's fine. Bear and I have already met.”

Reese's couldn't help but admire the young man's perception that Harold, even as delirious as he was, might be uncomfortable with anyone except John seeing his scars. John took great care using the alcohol to cool down Harold's fevered body. When even Finch's forehead felt cool to the touch John redressed Harold in pajamas of lighter material.

When Simmons returned with the items on the list Will put Harold under an oxygen tent to help him breathe easier.

For the longest three days that John could ever remember, the two repeated the last three hours over and over. Will checking Harold's vitals, listening to Finch's lungs and heart, giving him injection after injection while John gave alcohol bathes whenever Harold's temperature would spike or cleaned up when Harold would be sick.

William Ingram and John Reese got to learn more about each other as they cared for one of the most important persons in their lives. Will told John as the young man was looking down at Harold, "My father was Nathan Ingram, but the person who raised me, the man who is responsible for who and what I am is lying in this bed."

The fourth morning while Will was sleeping on the couch in the study and John was asleep in a chair pulled close to Finch's bed, Harold opened his eyes. Finch couldn't do much more than weakly squeeze the hand holding his yet it was enough to wake Reese. If Finch hadn't been so tired he might have jumped somewhat when John stood and started yelling for Ingram. Will came flying into the bedroom expecting the worst yet it only took one look at his Dad's face for him to pull Reese into a hug, "We did it."

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John and Harold have their happily ever after.
> 
> And yes.... Finally!


	21. Epilogue — Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vacation  
> A Wedding  
> A reunion  
> Meet the fiance
> 
> This is a long, final goodbye.
> 
> Explicit content.

 

Harold closed his eyes and silently counted to three before opening them again. John and his son Will **were** standing at the foot of the bed hugging each other. Finch tried to remember something, anything to explain what he was seeing before him only the last thing that was clear in his head was the insane brunette forcing him to write John that letter. Everything after that took on a nightmarish quality; nothing seemed to be real.

Everything, even the room and its furnishings looked surreal, everything except for the extreme sense of relief on the faces of both men when they turned to look at Harold again. John took the chair he had been sitting in before he began yelling for William.

As for his son, Will was every bit the professional as he pushed back the plastic tenting then picked up the stethoscope lying on the nightstand and started listening to Harold’s chest moving the diaphragm a few inches each time until he had listened to Harold’s lungs from every possible angle. With a nod from Will, John helped Harold to a sit, and Will repeated listening to Harold’s lungs moving the diaphragm an inch or two at a time across Harold’s back.

When Will was finished, John fixed the pillows so Harold could lean back and still stay sitting up while William turned off the oxygen cylinder, dismantled the tenting to run the tubing through an oxygen mask instead.

When the two had made Harold as comfortable as possible, John stood up to leave, “I won't be gone long. I’m going to let Patrick know you are going to be fine.” Harold could see the sheen of tears in John’s eyes when he leaned over and kissed Harold on the forehead.

Harold reached out for John’s hand before he could move away. “We’re all going to be okay. I love you, John.”

When John had left, Harold looked at his son, “How bad was it?”

William Ingram sat down on the bed, the professional mask slipped away to be replaced by that of a scared little boy, “I almost lost you again, Papa.”

Harold wrapped both arms around his son to hold Will to his chest and let his son cry until he had cried himself out. “If I had waited to come home....”

When Will sat back and looked at his father, he was composed once again. “You survived the initial drowning, thanks to your John, but there were complications. Those turned into severe infections of your lung’s linings and pneumonia.” As the young doctor took his father's temperature and other vitals he continued, “You were so sick. I gave you injection after injection, medication after medication, but it was John’s care that mattered the most. He held you when you vomited then cleaned you up, gave you alcohol bath after alcohol bath to lower your temp, and changed your sweat soaked clothing time after time. He never once left your side.”

“Your temperature is close to normal and your lungs are almost clear. I’ll keep you on the antibiotics and anti-inflammatories for a few weeks to make sure, but you’re going to make a full recovery.” Will stretched and yawned, “Now when that boyfriend of yours gets back, I’m going to leave you in his capable hands, go up to my old room, and sleep for a week.”

Will was almost to the study door when Harold asked, “Why did you come home early?”

“I wanted to meet John. I told you that.” Will then laughed at his father’s _tell me the truth_ face. “I never could put one over on you could I, Pop? When you’re better; I have someone I want you to meet.”

***

Reese closed the study door behind him. John wanted to give father and son some alone time; poor Simmons who had been beating himself up with guilt for leaving Finch alone that morning truly needed to find out before anyone else that Harold was going to recover.  

Only instead of crossing the hall to seek out Simmons who hadn’t left the kitchen or his own little household office except when summoned, John took the stairs up to his en-suite and sat down on the bed. _Harold is going to be okay._ The facade Reese had worn on the outside the past three days—strong, tireless, and brave—crumbled as tears began to flow freely down his face and John allowed himself to cry.

Reese had seen it in the others' eyes, how much they believed it was his strength, his love, and his bravery that had saved Finch’s life that night and helped Harold fight the sickness that ravaged his body. So, John had kept up the pretense, for the others.

Only now he that he was alone Reese allowed himself to break down. Harold was John’s strength; he had been since the night Finch had come banging on his door all those weeks ago. Every gasping breath Harold had taken, every rapid beat Harold's heart had made, every plea Harold had made in his delirium for John to stay with him had been the things to keep Reese going, not the other way around.

John’s sobs stopped to become sniffles and swallows; soon those were replaced by smiling hick-ups. Harold was going to live and so would he. Reese got up from the bed, went into the bath and washed his face with a cold wet cloth.

***

Reese found Patrick in the kitchen scrubbing the counters again. John looked around the spotless room and at the shining appliances. Will hadn’t been exaggerating; the houseman could be found there day or night, cleaning.

John cleared his throat to get Simmons attention, but the man only stood up straighter instead of facing Reese. “Harold’s awake. Will says he’s going to be fine.”

Reese heard Simmons’ sigh of relief before Patrick responded, “Very good, Sir. Thank you for informing me of Master Finch’s impending recovery. I know how worried you and Master Ingram were.”

John swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a second before he could answer, “We all were, Simmons. **We all were**.”

Reese asked before he left the kitchen, “I’m going back to sit with Harold. Would you bring up some sandwiches for Dr. Ingram and myself? Harold needs to eat something too, but nothing heavy. Could you bring up a bowl of broth and some _Jello_?”

Patrick Simmons turned to face John, the wetness covering the steel gray eyes and the catch in his voice belied the professionalism of his response, “I’ll have everything ready in thirty minutes, Sir. Would you care for something to drink also?”

Reese asked for Simmons’ special raspberry iced tea for himself and Will, weak hot tea of course for Harold, before turning to leave. John stopped at the doorway and added, “None of this was your fault. That woman tricked us all. If you hadn’t left she would have just found another way to get Harold alone....taken him somewhere we might never have found him. Please stop blaming yourself.”

***

The next two days settled into a routine of sorts. Harold slept most of the time day or night. When he would panic if John wasn’t in the same room at all times, no one really thought it was anything more than the trauma Harold had been through. If Harold needed the Malinois nearby, either lying in his doggie bed that had been moved from the patio into the bedroom or on a rug close to him if Harold was elsewhere in the mansion; everyone assumed Harold just wanted the company of the canine. Reese just made sure Harold was sound asleep and wouldn’t wake for hours when he would slip outside to go for a run with Bear.

No one really gave it much thought that during the day Finch would have John help him to the sunken living room and Harold would nap on the couch instead of in his bed. Reese would sit there, Finch’s head in his lap, while they watched TV or Harold would let John read to him. It didn’t seem odd that it was only when Harold was out for the night and could not protest that John could pick him up and carry Harold back to their bedroom.  

No one really worried about Harold’s unease until the third night when the nightmares began. When Harold had been sick he had called out in his delirium begging John not to leave, only the fever was gone now. Reese, who hadn’t allowed himself to do more than doze lightly was instantly alert when Harold’s breathing became labored. Finch woke up, looked around the room terrified and shaking uncontrollably. When Reese tried to calm him down Harold grabbed for John while pleading, “Don’t let her hurt me.”

Of course after Finch was fully awake, John would try to get him to talk, but Harold would clam up and not say any more than he already had about Root forcing her way in, making him write that note, and then drugging him.

Three nights later after more repeats of the nightmares, after Harold had fallen back into a dreamless sleep courtesy of the shot Will gave him, John went into the study to speak with Harold’s son.

John rubbed his hand through his hair, “I don’t know what to do. That bitch did something to Harold and he won’t tell me what. He’s terrified of even being in his own bedroom or study. I need to get him out of here, somewhere he’ll feel safe enough to tell me what really happened. Is he able to travel eight hours by car? My family has a place in Virginia.”

Before Will had a chance to answer, there was brief knock at the door followed by Simmons entering the study, a tray laden with a coffee urn and three cups in his hands.

Huddled together each with a cup of coffee, Will Ingram was the first to speak. “I know something more went on in this house than my father is telling us. I think he does need to get away, somewhere he can feel safe and talk to you John. If he won’t talk to you, then he won’t tell anyone. Flying is definitely out, but eight hours by car, no more than four hours between rest stops, shouldn’t cause any kind of relapse.”

John went to Harold’s desk, taking out a tablet and pen to write the address of a private beach house near Cape Charles, Va. Reese sighed as he sat back down, “A private beach—no one around, except Bear and me, fresh sea breezes and warm air. I hope this works.”

With everyone's agreement John was taking Harold away for two weeks or more—two weeks for Harold to recoup somewhere without memories to haunt him. Will had agreed also to oversee, with Patrick’s help of course, the complete redecoration of everything Root and her henchmen had even looked at let alone touched in the mansion.

The sun was well up when the three men were finished with their plans. Reese still had one call to make before waking Harold. Shaw was her usual lovable self when she answered her page at the clinic. She sounded peeved still about her authority being usurped when Will Ingram had negated her decision to send Harold to the hospital, but actually seemed relieved to hear Harold was better physically.

Reese could almost see Shaw’s excitement through the phone when she heard John’s plan that having horses around when they returned from vacation might further help in Harold’s recovery. Dr. Shaw had just treated two rescues that needed fostering for at least six months before the animals would be ready for adoption.

***

Harold watched John as he ran in front of the Escalade, up the sidewalk and steps to a well-kept two story cottage on the outskirts of Cape Charles. An older woman answered soon after Reese rang the doorbell, and swung open the screen door to envelope John in a bear hug. When she let him go she reached inside the doorway and then handed John a set of keys.

The woman followed John back to the car and as she neared, Harold could see the family resemblance. If he didn't know John’s parents were deceased, Harold could have mistaken the elder woman for John’s mother. Finch rolled down the window when she came over to the passenger door. “I’m John’s Aunt Lorraine. His mama and I were sisters, God rest her soul. John tells me that you have been sick. I’m a bit prejudiced but there’s no better place in the world to get your feet back under you than right here in Cape Charles. Two weeks of sunshine, sand, and salty sea breezes will fix you up right good. I just hope John here doesn’t whisk you away before we can have a nice long visit.”

Harold reached out to take the woman’s hand when she offered it and honestly meant it when he told her, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t. I’d love to meet John’s family.”

Aunt Lorraine stepped back to the curb but made it a point to catch John’s attention before he could start the motor, “I’ll expect you two here for dinner a week from Sunday.”

When they pulled away from the curb John tried to let Harold know they didn’t have to go, only Harold shook his head, “We have an engagement a week from Sunday, John. I meant what I said. I want to meet your family. Your family is my family.”

John smiled letting Harold believe he was pleased Finch wanted to meet his aunt, uncle, and all the cousins John knew would be at that house on Sunday. But truth be told, Reese was having a hard time not pounding on the steering wheel while cheering like a lunatic because for the first time in a week Harold sounded happy and excited to plan something, not like he was ready to leap out of his skin every time a door closed.

~~

When John jumped out of the SUV to unlock and open the metal gate, Harold rolled down the passenger window and was immediately captivated by the utter silence broken only by the crash of a wave on the shore or the call of a seabird off in the distance. Bear leaned over the front seat and Harold's shoulder to whiff at the air, forgetting his manners to lick at his master's face while whining with excitement.

When John was back in the vehicle driving it down the sandy lane, he promised the dog a run along the beach. John was deeply relieved to see Harold’s smile instead of the look of sheer panic in his eyes upon hearing that his two protectors would be away from his side.

The beach cottage was just as John remembered it although he hadn't been inside since his parents had passed a year after he'd retired from the Rangers. His aunt had been keeping check on the property making sure it had been kept up even though Reese had paid a reality company to do the same.

The dear woman had sent one of his cousins to get the place stocked and ready for the both of them to stay two weeks without having to go into town for anything. John made a promise to himself that his relatives and he along with Harold and his new family wouldn't be as estranged as John and they had become the past ten years. Reese chuckled to himself as he helped Harold inside; odds of that happening again with Finch so adamant about meeting John's relatives were probably slim and none. Reese expected to be making monthly drives home now that he had Finch in his life; family was everything to Harold.

The cottage was a quaint one room affair with just a bathroom off to one side. The sliding glass doors leading to the beach had been left open to just the screens and the breeze blowing in from the ocean was warm with the tang of salt air. Neighboring cabins were far enough away that the cottage was totally private even if not for it being in the nook of a sand-hill that sheltered it from view except from passing boats that were way out to sea. It was the perfect place for Harold to feel safe again.

***

Four days of wearing nothing except surfer shorts, John was bronzed almost all over. Harold himself was sporting a tan, even though John couldn't coax him into wearing anything less than knee length khakis and short sleeved print shirts.

Well today Reese vowed he would find out why Harold refused to be undressed in front of him anymore, even alone at night in bed together. Finch had always been nervous before letting John see his scars, but now Harold actually seemed to be ashamed.

Reese had been quiet in the kitchenette area fixing Harold his favorite pancakes, so he awoke with a smile when John served him breakfast in bed. When Harold was finished, he suspected nothing when John accidentally spilled the tray in his lap, leftover orange juice down the front of his pajamas, and sticky residue from the syrup everywhere. John stripped the soiled bedding and tossed it on the floor then reached for the buttons to undo Harold’s pajama top.

When Finch all but yelled at Reese to not touch him, John put his hands up and got off the bed. John rummaged in the cabinets and brought back an unopened bottle of scotch, setting it on the nightstand.

Reese sat back on the bed and took hold of Harold’s hand tightly in his, “Remember when you told me I didn’t need to drown my sorrows in a bottle anymore, you were there now to share in my pain? My pain was now your pain? You would throw that bottle in the trash and give me solace if I was hurting about losing James and Jessica, wouldn’t you?”

Harold tried to pull away mumbling, “It’s not the same thing,” but John held firm. “You are the one who is hurting now. It’s my turn to help you. But how can I, when you all but shut me out? I can’t even touch you intimately anymore. Tell me, what did that woman do to you?”  

Harold tried to look at John but turned away, “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Reese let go of Harold’s hand to cup his face with both hands, kissed Harold reassuringly on the lips, then put his forehead against Finch’s. “It’s okay. Trust me. Trust that I love you and need you.” John reached between them to unbutton Harold’s top. “Shhh. Just let me show you how much. Please, Harold, please?”

John could feel the rapid beating of Harold’s heart as he undid one button then another. He didn’t make a move to stop John but clenched his eyes shut tight as if afraid to see John’s face as Reese removed the pajama top from his shoulders. Harold opened his eyes slowly when John started pressing kisses to the scars on his right side then reached up to push John away.

“You’re not disgusted?” Harold choked out while he searched John’s face for any indication he was revolted; when seeing nothing but love and desire Finch sobbed out everything Root had done to him.

John felt like getting up to throw something, break everything within reach, drive back to New York and kill the woman; he was so angry after hearing what Root had done. Instead John pulled Harold close, his arms wrapped tightly around Harold’s waist, John’s voice low and soothing, “I’ve got you now. Take your comfort from me.”

John was lying there just holding Harold close to his chest, listening to his breathing slow to normal, feeling Harold relax in his arms, when Harold whispered against his neck, “I love you so much and I need you now if you still want me?”

Reese moved back a little to pull Harold’s chin up with two fingers to look into Harold’s eyes, “Of course I still want you, I never stopped wanting you.” John turned on his side and pushed with his hips to show Harold how much. John pressed a hasty kiss to Harold’s lips and then got up from the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

Reese opened the doors to let Bear outside and ordered him to stand guard. John only shut the screens to let the ocean breeze blow through. He stripped as he returned to the bed, stood alongside and stretched, then leered as Harold’s eyes opened wide seeing John’s cock jutting out.

John then knelt on the bed to help Harold out of his pajama bottoms and boxers, before he stretched out and covered Harold’s naked body under his own.

The pressure of Harold’s cock rubbing against his own would have been enough for John to find release so much so John had to grab himself and squeeze hard to keep from coming. He tried to wrap his hand around Harold’s length to bring him to climax first but Harold grabbed his hand to plead, “Fuck me John, please. I need you inside me.”

John turned on his side and put his hand to the side of Harold’s face, “I will. Be patient with me. I need to get us both ready. I never want to hurt you.”

Reese had wanted this, had brought lube and condoms but kept them in his overnight bag under the bed. He set the condom packet on the nightstand then grabbed the lube and snapped open the cap. John wet his forefinger before rubbing it over Harold’s waiting hole.

Harold moaned at the touch and opened his legs further. Harold’s body had been used to penetration for over thirty years and was ready after John stretched him wide with a few scissoring of his fingers.

Reese put pillows under Harold’s hips to raise him up and reached for the condom packet. Harold shook his head no, “Just you, I want to feel you.”

John slicked his cock generously with more lube, slid an arm under Harold’s weak leg, took hold of his cock with the other and pressed only the head in past the ring of muscle. John squeezed his eyes shut tight the pleasure was so intense.

John tried to go slow pushing in further but Harold wrapped his good leg across John’s ass to pull himself up and John further in. John grunted as he slid in up to his balls and moved so the head of his cock was pressing against Harold’s sweet spot, holding himself still, letting Harold adjust to John's length inside him.

John started out slowly pulling himself out with just his cockhead inside then pushing back all the way in. It was at Finch’s impatient urging when John rocked his hips faster and faster, to fuck Harold harder and harder. He tried to hold back but John felt his balls draw up and too soon he was coming, the feeling so good John whimpered in ecstasy with each spasm.Harold practically screamed John’s name as the heat of John’s seed erupted inside him. Harold slid his hand between their bellies, desperately tugged at the head of his own cock once and climaxed.

John just kept pumping and pumping bursts of semen while Harold kept meeting John’s thrusts, his own emissions still spurting between them, coating their chests. Harold wouldn't let John move off holding John inside him until long after their sexual highs had ebbed. Even after John protested he was hurting Harold, Harold held tight. “I never want to let you go,” Harold grieved, “I’m afraid if I do; something will happen. We’ll never have this again.”

John shifted his arm to let go of Harold’s bad leg, moved both arms under Harold’s back and used his elbows to lift some of his weight from Harold’s chest, all the while not breaking their connection.

Reese moved his hips to push himself into Harold’s warmth and groaned, “I don’t want you to. I want to stay like this. We **will** have this again...” John pushed in, “and again...” John pushed in again moaning, “And again.” Reese then sighed as if the last thing he wanted to do was get up, “Only things could get messy if we never leave this bed.”

Harold relaxed his hold a fraction, letting his good leg slide off John’s back onto the mattress, then cleared his throat, “You do have a point.”

Reese could tell Harold’s fears were relieved and even dared to joke; “Besides if we stay here in bed, we’ll miss Aunt Lorraine's Sunday dinner **AND** she will come looking for us.”

Harold relaxed the rest of his hold and even blushed a bit when he chuckled, “That would be awkward, wouldn’t it?”

John helped Harold out of bed and towards the bathroom. “That big old claw-foot tub is large enough for two. Care to join me? You scrub my back, I scrub yours. That’s how this thing between us works, right?”

John then pulled Harold close and kissed him possessively, “You’re mine now Harold Finch. I love you, exactly the way you are. Never forget that or doubt it ever again.”

***

Reese left for the Cape early in the morning on the last Friday of their stay. Harold was content to stay behind to read under the umbrella John had set up out of the wind and not far from the old wooden pier. John promised to be back in an hour to bring the motor boat to the dock. Finch had finally relented to spending a few hours out on the ocean letting John give him a tour of the other beaches. Maybe they would see the ponies on the beaches of Chincoteague or Assateague islands.

As he guided the boat back to their cottage John thought about how wonderful things had been between them since Harold had opened up about his trauma. They had talked again later that day agreeing that they both would seek some professional help. That woman had hurt them both, mentally as well as physically.

Harold was sleeping soundly in John’s embrace most nights—all night. Reese would always be a light sleeper but he was finally able to rest. They would fall right back to sleep even when Harold would wake with the occasional nightmare. Finch would startle awake to feel John covering him with the protective cocoon of Reese’s strong possessive body, close his eyes and listen to John whispering, “I’m here.” Harold may never get completely over what happened to him, but he had let John back in; that’s really all they both needed, each other.

The boat was rounding the last out jutting of sand that blocked the cottage from view. John could see the colorful umbrella and the empty beach chair under it. John held up his hand to block the sun’s rays and searched the beach to see that Harold had stretched out on a blanket to sun himself.

John laughed and shook his head. It had taken some convincing, hell, a lot of convincing, to get Harold out of his shirt and tee to get some sun. Finch still adamantly refused to get rid of all his tan lines, the shorts stayed on, but Harold had turned into a sun worshiper. The warmth helped his aches, the tan faded the scars, and the sunshine pushed the clouds of depression farther away. Harold was almost as bronzed now as John.  

Reese had to change his stance at the wheel thinking about Harold’s tanned skin, all that chestnut hair that was turning silver and tawny; how much he wanted right now to run his fingertips over that skin and through that glorious hair.

John started thinking about cleaning the fish he hoped they might catch sometime today instead of how much he wanted to dock the boat, run to Harold and take him right there on the beach. It wouldn’t be a first for them—there hadn’t been anywhere inside or outside of the cottage they hadn’t had sex the past week—only now was not the time.

Reese did manage to get control of himself by the time he actually pulled the boat alongside the pier and jumped out to tie it off. He expected he would have to wait for Finch to head back to the cottage to change into dress slacks and shirt, but Harold just pulled his beach shirt back on, whistled for Bear and walked over the wooden pier to meet John at the boat. John had to swallow down his emotion; Harold didn’t feel like he had to be ashamed of how he looked.

John had already stocked a cooler with everything they would need for the afternoon, so all he had to do was help Harold get in. Bear jumped down on his own right after John did and they were on their way.

***

Reese reached over to turn off the alarm of his cell phone. It was time—time to go back to New York via a Sunday afternoon at his aunt’s and eight hours on the interstate. Their bags were packed; the SUV could be loaded up in twenty minutes—they had time to snuggle up for another hour. John blinked to focus on the alarm and set it to go off again in an hour then turned to pull Harold against him. All he grabbed was empty sheet. John sat up to see the curtains billowing with the morning breeze and Harold stretched out in the lounger on the deck catching the sun’s early morning rays.

Reese closed his eyes briefly to wish for no responsibilities waiting back in Brooklyn, to be able to stay here in their own little world, to always see Harold as content as he looked right now, but reality beckoned them home; John padded naked through the opened screen doors.

John had only intended to bend down to kiss Harold _Good Morning_ and run his hand through Harold’s sun bleached chest hair—except Reese just kept kissing down skin almost as copper hued as his own, pulled down the waistband of Harold's swim trunks to free Finch’s length and kiss the tip. This was not the first time John had tried to give Finch fellatio and as he always did, Harold tried to protest by pushing John away by the shoulders, choking out a panicked warning “No, I’m too big!” John still dropped to his knees to start sucking and licking the large purpling head of Finch’s cock.

John relaxed his jaw and took Harold in his mouth to the back of his throat while using his hand encased around the rest to give Harold what was probably the first blow and hand job he had in years, if ever. Possibly sometime in the past Finch had had a bad experience, but John was determined to show Harold how good it could be, for the both of them.

Finch’s protests turned into moans of pleasure and he clung to John’s shoulders as Reese worked his cock. John only latched on tighter when Harold tried to push him away, “John I’m…” John swallowed as Harold’s shaft trembled. The orgasm was slow building as it had a longer journey than most. John doubled his efforts in order to give Harold sensation all the way until finally the bitter-sweet prize was shooting out along John’s tongue.

When John had swallowed the last of Harold’s load, he pulled off to look up at Harold’s face. Finch was breathing heavily; his pupils were blown wide as he was staring out unfocused somewhere above and beyond Reese’s head.

John pulled the elastic band of the swim trunks up to cover Harold again and then raised himself up on his knees to stroke Harold’s cheek and jaw with his fingertips. Even though Harold was still under the throes of an endorphin high he was able to focus on the loving contentment on John’s face. Harold whimpered as he reached out and swiped a bit of his pearly essence from the corner of John’s mouth with his thumb, “No one has...Nathan never...” Finch’s hand then dropped to his side and he closed his eyes, “Made me feel this way.”

Harold’s eyes snapped back open and he tried to correct a mistake he thought he had made, “I loved Nathan. We were good together. I just meant…”

John silenced Harold with a kiss then finished for his lover, “We’re good together, too.”

The alarm sounding again, even more determined from inside the cottage, had Reese groaning then standing while holding out a hand to help Harold up. “Time to get ready to go home.”

Harold sat up on the lounger and swung his feet to the deck flooring which put him at eye level to notice John was still hard. Harold swallowed loudly, “What about you?”

Reese tugged Harold up to his feet, “We need to get showered and changed.” John then bent down to huskily breathe in Harold’s ear, “Only I won't be able stop you if you trap me in the shower because you want to return the favor.”

***

It was a good thing their fishing expedition yesterday had been so successful. The live well of the boat had been filled with bluefish and it had taken his uncle, two cousins, plus himself three hours to bleed, clean, and filet the entire catch. Yet as John parked the Escalade he mentally crossed his fingers hoping there was enough to feed the clan.

The whole of Reese’s family looked to be gathered at his Aunt Lorraine’s for Sunday dinner. Both sides of the street for two blocks in either direction were lined with parked cars. The driveway to his aunt’s home was empty, obviously reserved for the guests of honor.

Harold looked extremely nervous as they knocked at the door. That lasted all of five minutes as they were swept into the throng of John’s welcoming and loving family. They pulled Harold into their midst like he was the long lost prodigal son. John had forgotten just how special his people were as he watched how much they accepted Harold and loved him just because John did.

Reese slipped out to the SUV after dinner to grab the velvet box containing the ring that had caught his eye. It was in the window of an antique jewelry shop he passed on the way to rent the boat. He had planned on waiting until they were back at the mansion to find out if Harold wanted to be married again to him, only now seeing Harold so happy being welcomed into John’s family, what better time and place was there to ask?

Reese stood at the table patiently waiting for everyone to pick up that he had something to say. When the entire household was finally silent and looking at him, John knelt next to Harold’s chair, opened the box containing the ring with its twisted bands of silver and gold before he held it out.

“Harold Finch, I love you more than life itself. Will you marry me?”

John shifted on his knee while his heart seemed to start beating out of his chest. It was only moments yet it seemed like hours before Harold reached out with a shaky hand to take the box from his.

If felt like the pounding in his chest halted mid beat when Harold shook his head as if he was going to say no. A thousand thoughts flew through John’s mind; the foremost that was that they loved and needed each other, a marriage certificate wouldn’t make it any more so. John hoped that Harold could see by looking in his eyes now that yes or no, John’s feelings were never going to change.

Harold watched disappointment flit quickly over John’s face—John thought his answer was no, when he wanted to shout, “Yes!” Only his throat had tightened up and he couldn't speak. Harold tried again, “Even after everything that has happened, I still find it hard to believe you want me John. But, I do want you. Yes. Yes, I will marry you.”

***

It was close to noon Monday when Harold awoke in his bed at the mansion—no, not his bed, a new one. He sat up and looked around. Everything was new. From ceiling to floor the entire bedroom had been changed. Maybe three months ago he would have been angry to have anyone change anything without his knowledge. Now, he smiled at how much he loved what his family had done. What John had arranged to be done while they were away, but where was John?

It had been past four AM when John had parked the SUV in the mansion’s garage. Harold remembered barely protesting before allowing John to carry him inside. With all the excitement and the giddiness he had felt after becoming engaged, Harold was really too tired to complain and so what if he rather liked being carried into the house by his strong, handsome fiancé. John had helped him get undressed and into bed; that was the last he remembered until waking up just now.

There was a knock at the study door before Simmons entered bringing in a tray laden with brunch just as a sweaty, breathless Reese with Bear right behind him bounded through the patio doors. John laughed, “Perfect timing.” He jogged over to the bed, bent over to kiss Harold before adding, “I’m showering while you eat. When we get dressed, I have a surprise for you.”

~~

Harold sat next to John in the electric cart as they took the path to the stables. The wicker of a horse in the paddock as the men approached had Harold sitting up and staring wide-eyed at John.

As the cart neared the paddock the mare stretched her neck over the fence and whinnied a welcome in their direction. John grinned and put his hand on Harold’s shoulder, “Injured dogs, broken men, and now horses. We all need and trust you Harold.”

Harold got off the cart and limped to the fence to stroke the mare’s muzzle. Her coat was in need of a good brushing, he could see how underfed she was, and a dozen other things that were wrong. But, she closed her big brown eyes then leaned her head more into Harold’s touch. John watched and listened in amazement, yet wondered why he should be surprised, Harold was crooning low, “You’re going to be fine. I’ve got you now.”

By the end of the week, the stable was full; horses were in the pastures happily munching on the green grass or rolling around on it.

John was the trainer, Bear and Harold the pupils as they resumed the hand signals only lessons once again, but only for an hour each morning. Then it was off to the stables where Harold became the teacher, John the student, and Bear kept a watchful eye on them all.

***

The wedding was only three days away when John rang the doorbell. A red-haired freckle-faced boy of six answered and ran yelling for Mom when John asked if his mother was home. Leila Smith, Leila Brooking now, invited John inside. She sent her eldest out to play, put her infant son in his playpen, and invited John to sit on the sofa before she lowered her very pregnant body down into her recliner.

John had been at work when his secretary had put Leila's call through. During their talk on the phone Leila had told John that her grandparents had passed away five years ago. When she had been going through their things she had found a picture of herself as a baby being held between two men that was in an old envelope along with some blanked out adoption records.

Some things finally made sense to her. Her grandparents had tried to convince Leila for years that her mother had abandoned her, that Leila had lived with them from that day on. She was only a baby and it was just her imagination not a real memory that her mother had cried the day she had sent Leila to live with her two new fathers.

Leila and her husband had spent every cent they could to track down those men. The men Leila was sure were the mysterious benefactors who had paid for her private schools and college. It had taken investigators and a lawyer to track down then unseal all the old records. By the time they had, Nathan Ingram had died and Harold Finch was badly injured. She decided then to let the matter drop.

Until she saw the wedding announcement, how healthy and happy Harold was now. Leila had no idea why she felt she had to do it, but had decided to take a chance and call John. She had burst into tears over the phone when John had told her Harold loved her as much or more than he had when she was Nathan's and his.

Now they were sitting in her living room making plans. Leila wiped happy tears from her eyes as she agreed to come to the wedding. What better gift could either of them give to the amazing man Harold Finch was than reuniting him with the daughter he had loved and lost so long ago?

***

Patrick tried to calm down a very nervous Harold Finch, who fretted more than an actual bride. “You look wonderful, Harold.”... “John’s going to be there waiting for you.” .... "No, John’s not going to get cold feet.”

Simmons looked over as the mantle clock chimed. “It’s time. I’ll be right outside the door when you are ready.”

Harold heard a light rapping at the study door. When he went to open it expecting Patrick to be on the other side, his knees went weak when he saw his daughter standing before him.

Leila held out an old stuffed pink bunny, “They tried to tell me you were only my imagination, but I never forgot the man who gave this to me.”

"My beautiful Leila," Harold hugged his daughter to him, as they both started crying.

Patrick was the one who knocked then and opened the door, “It’s time.”

Leila linked her arm with Harold’s. “I hope you don’t mind Mr. Simmons, I’d like to give my father away?” Simmons smiled, motioned for them to go, and closed the doors behind them.

Father and daughter walked out into the hall, down the hallway, and out the front doors of the mansion.

A runner of blue carpet followed the curved stairs down across the driveway and to an arbor covered with blue flowers of dozens of varieties where John waited. Hundreds of people sat on white wooden chairs arranged in rows on the sweeping front lawn.

William was standing to John's left as Harold approached. William stepped forward to take his sister’s arm in his and they moved to stand at Harold’s left, as they all turned to face the Justice of the Peace.

Neither groom was paying much attention to the JP’s words, but answered “I do.”, when asked the question.

Their vows to each other were the same, “Whatever happens from this day forward, I'll be there. Everything is going to be okay. I’ve got you now.” They put simple bands of gold and silver on the other's finger.

When they were pronounced married, John kissed Harold long and passionately to the cheers and applause of family and friends.

There was much celebrating after, cake and champagne, then dancing. The newlyweds begged off the traditional dance with each other, Harold’s bad hip and all, when all they really wanted to do was get Bear in the Escalade and take off for their honeymoon, at the beach cottage of course.

Simmons was helping the two to escape, when Will sought them out. “I‘m so sorry he couldn’t be here sooner, his job and all. I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Anthony Marconi.”

Simmons and John looked at each other, then at Anthony, then back at each other, trying not to grin madly. Will’s fiancé in those glasses was almost Finch’s doppelganger when Harold was that age.

Harold shook Anthony’s hand, gave the man a quick hug and then pulled his son to the side, “What happened with Rebecca, I thought you and she were...”

“We’re still good. We just realized one day we’re better at being best friends than lovers. She’s the one who pointed me in Tony’s direction.” Will hugged his father, “You better get going. I love you Pop.”

John hurried his new husband into the car, let Bear jump in the back, slid in quickly behind the wheel and gunned the SUV down the drive past all their guests.

~*~

The dining room was full of family and friends for Harold and John’s one year anniversary. Newlyweds William and Anthony Ingram were seated at Harold’s left, the recently engaged Zoe Morgan and Patrick Simmons next to them (yes, Zoe got her man). The Brooking family who had just moved into the gatehouse (Leila and her husband accepted her father’s offer of free housing and babysitting so both could return to college and finish their Doctorates) were sitting at John’s right. Leila’s kids as always were on their best behavior when Papa John was near. Of course Aunt Lorraine was there with two of her four sons. Lionel and his wife were seated next to Leon Tao. Leon was infatuated with Sameen Shaw sitting across the table. Dr. Shaw was still about as affable as an angry bull, but covered smiles behind her napkin while sneaking looks at the CEO.

Only John and Harold were not really the guests of honor for the night. Darren McGrady, John and Harold’s foster son, as of today was now legally Darren Reese. Twins Kara and Karl were Reeses too; their _welcome to the family_ dinner happened not even a month ago.

John fell back against the mattress later that evening after making love to Harold, both of them gasping for breath. They still couldn't get enough of each other and John loved it.

Reese still thought about James, maybe even one day he would try again for his own biological child. **Maybe!** With the twins, Darren, foster children always needing a place to call home, and their grandchildren about, John crawled into bed totally exhausted every night. (Well not totally, that was later after....then he'd hold Harold and fall asleep.)

_Horses, dogs (yes dogs **—** puppies, they found Bear a lady friend), children galore underfoot, **and** an insatiable husband. A baby of our own? I’d never have the energy._

_**Finis** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We may be leaving John. Harold and Bear's journey  
> but this is not the end of it.  
> Thank you everyone.


End file.
